


Rook of Skyrim

by futsch



Series: Hero, Event, Prophecy [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Dragonborn DLC, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 242,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futsch/pseuds/futsch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragonborn Rook is brought to Solstheim because of a mysterious threat but ends up finding herself entangled in the daily lives of the Dunmer of Raven Rock, a mad Telvanni wizard, and the problems of the quiet and devout Skaal. In the company of Teldryn Sero, a hired sword too mouthy for his own good, Rook is in a race against time to figure out what's happening to her on Solstheim and why. A fantasy/adventure story that's part I of the Hero, Event, Prophecy series. Explicit depictions of violence and, later, sexual activity. Some course language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Raven Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I'm excited to be editing and polishing up the original Rook of Skyrim story for AO3! A work originally published and finished in 2013, this version of the work not only cleans up some rough spots (it was the first story I ever completed; I've learned a lot since then) but also adjusts for canon that has changed over the course of parts II and III of the Hero, Event, Prophecy series. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and, even more so, taking the time to review! -Ash

“M’lady, we’re nearing Raven Rock.”

I sighed, forcing the sound of exasperation into an exaggeration of its actual presence in my breath. There were two deckhands on the _Northern Maiden_ and, while one of them had taken the hint that I wasn’t a chatty person, Sogrlaf felt the need to update me on every detail of our journey. This would have been tolerable had the journey northward not taken four days. Captain Salt-Sage had been blessedly quiet; not an unpleasant surprise considering I paid him double to sail out to Solstheim on the quick and with no complaint.

I was able to force out, “Good to hear,” and continued to stare out toward the incoming land in front of us. This was a far cry from any place I had traveled to in Skyrim. It was as if the color were muted out of every thing. I had been told that parts of Solstheim had been buried underneath ash from the eruption of Red Mountain but I hadn’t believed it. I wasn’t religious, but I could see why the nomadic Ashlanders thought the place haunted—the spectral, spindly fingers of Dagoth Ur reached out across land and sea to follow the Dunmer who were eventually granted the island from the Empire.

Despite the ashy gloom that veiled the coast, it was a breath of fresh air. The people of Skyrim were tolerant as long as I was their idealized hero, the Dragonborn; they were accepting of me as long I was killing their newfound dragon problem but they didn’t know of the sacrifices I had to make in order to ensure Alduin had been taken care of. But Raven Rock was a new beginning. I wasn’t looking to save anyone. I could finally just leave all of Skyrim’s political mess behind me and just worry about myself without any attachments. This place was my freedom.

“Dragonborn?” Salt-Sage’s thick Nord accent interrupted my thoughts.

“ _Rook_ ,” I hissed through my teeth and the captain cleared his throat.

“Right. Rook.” I didn’t offer any encouragement as he rubbed the back of his neck and continued, “We’ll be docked at port for a couple of weeks but after that we’ll be leaving for Windhelm again. After that we won’t be coming back for at least a month.”

“I’ll manage.” I rolled my eyes. The Nord hadn’t been keen on coming back _this_ time around, mumbling about something incoherently when I stated that my only reason for coming to the place was because I found a letter on one of the men who tried to kill me in Whiterun stating that this is where they hailed from; nothing about Solstheim sat right with me but I was feeling a tad vindictive about the whole “we’ve come to kill you” thing so I decided a change of scenery would do me good. That and maybe I’d find some answers. I grabbed the note out of a side pouch from my hip and read it over and over again, the edges worn and tinted black from my armor. I ran a thumb gingerly over the words “Kill the false Dragonborn known as…” with my name finishing the sentence. Troubling indeed. I kept my real name tangled up in lies, falsehoods, and the occasional well-placed bribe for anonymity.

Names were fine for Heroes. Just not ones that also happened to be criminals.  

The jerk of the ship as it docked threw me back into reality. I folded the letter back up and stuffed it into the pouch. A well-dressed Dunmer stood at the dock, a scowl on his face. “Great,” I muttered. I crossed my arms and moved my legs so that they stood slightly apart, doing my best to seem threatening. Without my Dragonborn reputation here, I needed him to believe I held power. I didn’t know what I looked like to others but I heard the comments when I walked by. _Like forged midnight,_ they’d say. It was decided that masks would be the only face I’d ever need in the shadows; people were always handing me a mask to wear so I kept putting them on.

When I started killing Dragon Priests, I decided to wear their masks. I had finally settled on wearing Hevnoraak’s mask, a permanent disapproving scowl etched into the ages old stone. I was a void, the only skin that could be seen were the fingertips peering out from my fingerless gloves. As I walked out onto the dock to meet the dark elf, I felt my hood shift in the wind and my cloak swirled around my armor and my boots. The wood creaked beneath my weight and I stood in front of the elf who was a head taller than me.

His already thin and sharp face was pulled into a thinner, more slender shape as his lips puckered into a sour grimace. “My name is Adril Arano, Second Councilor of Raven Rock. I don't recognize you, so I'll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander. State your intentions.” I was glad my mask hid my face because I was certain he would not have tolerated my eyes rolling into my head.

“None of your business,” I replied tersely, my voice muffled by my mask.

“That's the kind of attitude that'll land you in prison. But I'll let it go for now. Just remember, Raven Rock is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you're here you will be expected to abide by our laws."

“Sure, sure,” I side-stepped him and flipped my hand dismissively behind me, hoping he would leave the issue be. “Where’s the nearest inn?”

He crossed his arms in reply, shaking his head. “If you’re insistent on finding a place to stay, The Retching Netch is the only inn in Raven Rock.” I nodded and as I walked off, I heard him and the captain talking about supplies and how the East Empire Company raised their prices again. Little surprise that the trading company levied more taxes but what _was_ shocking to me was the fact East Empire had interests here. I hadn’t exactly conducted a whole lot of research about the place before I decided to sail off here.        

As I walked through the gates, I was still a little amazed by the differences between the island and Skyrim. I hadn’t thought I would miss the familiarity but I did. A little. I wasn’t exactly a seasoned sailor and hadn’t really accounted for how tiring the ride to Solstheim would be. The spiny looking plants and ashy streets was doing wonders for my fatigue, my mind spinning at how unlike Skyrim things were; I asked a local guard armored in something I couldn’t name where the Netch was—“The _Retching_ Netch,” he had corrected—and pointed me toward a more commercial-looking section of town. I could feel stares from all the Dunmer around me.

The whispers weren’t exactly _quiet_ but then again I wasn’t exactly a local. The doorways were all arches, the buildings all bathed in shades of golden brown, yellows, and reds. I tried to gain a little disinterest from them, walking confidently and minimizing my staring. It had been a while since I needed to call upon my written daedric skills but found it came back easily with no Common tongue to be found. I glanced off-handedly at building signs in cramped script that had a number of people congregated around them until I found The Retching Netch. A guard posted outside glared at me as I walked through the double doors.

The layout of the building puzzled me at first. The first floor was shaped like a horseshoe with a set of stairs going down the middle. At the very center, toward the back stood a Dunmer stirring something over a fire. Against a far wall sat a man covered head to toe in what had to be the chitin armor I had heard about on the ship; Dunmer on Solstheim used the chitin found on native arthropods to construct durable, light armor. This guy seemed to trust his life with it. A chitin helm covered the top of his head and flared out slightly on the sides. He wore opaque goggles and a rough-looking, crimson kerchief wrapped around his neck and face. He pulled down the cloth slightly to take a swig of his drink and I saw the characteristic dark skin of a Dunmer. Little surprise in Morrowind. I strode toward the Dunmer stirring the soup, passing the chitin-clad one although not without feeling his gaze study my movements.

“Who do I see about a room?” I started before the cook turned with a wide smile on his face.

“Ah, Drovas Relvi at your service and welcome to the Retching Netch, m’lady. Master Geldis will be happy to help you.”

I raised a non-visible eyebrow, “And where would I find _Master_ Geldis?”

“Why, downstairs tending to the patrons, m’lady.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled before walking past the chitin-armored Dunmer again. He was alone and looked too well-equipped to be a regular patron. He struck me as a mercenary. Someone who knew the land but that I wouldn’t be playing nursemaid to might serve me well. I took a step back and settled into an empty chair at his table. I grabbed the white, odd-shaped bottle he had drunk out of, moved my mask so that my mouth was affordable, and took a deep swig.

Immediately, I pushed it back towards him. “This swill is awful.” I could swear I saw one corner of his mouth move upward in a smug smile.

“Teldryn Sero, blade for hire. If you have the coin, I’m at your service.” He waved one hand toward his drink as if to mockingly offer me more. “Not that I needed to tell _you_ that. Lucky you, I’m the best swordsman in _all_ Morrowind. I’m at your service for the right price, of course. Specifically, five hundred.” His voice had a deep, mellow quality tinged with a touch of smugness. I didn’t care if he was the best swordsman in all of _Nirn_ but I could afford to throw some Septims around.

“Consider yourself hired,” I slid from the chair, dug into my pouch, and pulled out a pouch with five hundred gold. Plopping it squarely by his drink, I added, “We’ll make it per week. So, see you in early in the morning and don’t spend it all in one place.”

As I turned to walk down the stairs I heard Teldryn laugh, “Well, well. _Someone_ is quite generous. See you in the morning, _patron_.”

I grumbled. That’s all I needed, another _witty_ mercenary. The last one I hired was out of pity: Erik the _Slayer_. He had added in that last part without any credentials, but in a moment of weakness I hired him on, trying to help him get away from a life of farming. I didn’t feel bad when an arrow caught him in the neck while saying, “Thanks! Not sure it was necessary, though.” The ingrate. I walked toward the bar. A Dunmer wiping mugs looked at me.

“Geldis Sadri?”

“Welcome to the Retching Netch, m’lady. What can I do for you?”

“For you to drop the nicetires and a room.”

He smiled. “Ten gold and the room is yours for—” I slapped down a few Septims before he could finish, my fatigue finally catchin up with me. “Well, then,” he fingered a coin between his knuckles, “Allow me to show you your room then.” He walked around the bar and behind some barrels of what I could only assume was the local brew. There were a few patrons sitting around the dimly lit inn, the lights not quite reaching the curves that led outward from the central area. Geldis led me to a set of double doors at the left of a dead end. “Not to be rude, but will your hire be staying with you?”

I glared at him and Geldis threw up his hands, “No offense intended, I just heard you two upstairs. Didn’t know if you knew him.”

“The spellsword can pay for his own damn room. If he argues otherwise, tell him he can find another patron,” I shut the door in the Dark Elf’s face and surveyed the room. Not bad as far as inns usually went. The arches and curves were beginning to grow on me, a nice change from the stone and wood. The room had two sections, the second being a smaller more private area with a table and two chairs made of thin logs. It didn’t look comfortable but the bed looked inviting enough with the soft, worn hides lying on top of it. I took off my mask and threw back my hood. If anything, Teldryn had the right idea staying fully covered out here. A light dusting of ash covered every part of me; I rubbed my fingertips feeling the grit that covered them. “Great. Another clean, pristine place,” I said to my mask, wiping off the dust with a clean section of my cloak. I flopped onto the bed, an unsatisfying ache coursing through my legs. I cursed myself for not asking for a fresh tub of hot water and I didn’t feel like venturing back out.

I reached underneath the bed with a foot and drug out an empty tub. I looked over at the table in corner and hoped the large pitcher had water in it. I sighed and eventually willed myself to stand up and grab the pitcher which was, luckily, freshly filled to the brim. As I unbuckled my sword belt, I kicked off my boots and yanked off my gloves. I reached behind and ducked under my quiver and bow, placing them carefully on the bed. I finally shrugged off the main portion of my armor and laid it across my lap, my black underclothes still on. I ran a thumb over the Nightingale sigil emblazoned upon the front of the chest, a dark bird reaching its wings to a dark moon.

Right before I left, I made a trip to the Thieves’ Guild to check up on the books. Ever since I was instated Guild Master there had been a sudden influx of new members and new vendors wanting to set up shop near the Ragged Flaggon. I trusted Brynjolf as my second-in-command but I wanted to prove to the others that I wasn’t Mercer Frey. I had even restored the Guild’s presence throughout Skyrim, dedicated myself to the year that work took. Mostly, I missed the companionship. The Dark Brotherhood was never really my place. Sure, I had been a good utility, a convenient means to an end but I would never replace Astrid. Despite her betrayal of the Tenents, I had a nagging feeling that the other members preferred Astrid’s family paradigm to the hard and fast rules I wanted to return to. I couldn’t be bothered to travel to Dawnstar anymore to the cold, far-too-big cave we moved to. I imagined the Night Mother wasn’t too happy with me but I knew she would never question my actions.

I took off the rest of my clothes and smallclothes, cringed as my feet touched the cold bath tub. I took the pitcher and poured water over my arms, legs, torso and neck. I took a nearby clean rag and wet it, washing my neck, face, and back. I wouldn’t bother washing my hair. Wild and the color of coal, it could wait until a proper bath. The untamable and loose curls hung a bit past my shoulders. It was one of my favorite memories I had of my mother, her working her fingers through the tangled knots and clucking her tongue. “What would the Bretons in High Rock say about you? They would think you had become a wild Nord living out in the Reach all this time. One day, we’ll move back to our home and no one will recognize you.”

I ran my hands down my cheeks, my fingers tracing the high cheekbones. No matter how hard I tried, my blood would never yield to my whims. It wasn’t all bad; my slight build allowed me to be faster, quieter. I wanted to laugh at the thought. Of all of the places my blood had taken me to in the past five years, High Rock had not been one of them. I traveled to the Reach and Haafingar often enough, but things just kept me in Skyrim. Now something had brought me to a small portion of Morrowind.

I hopped out of the tub and shook water off my body, the drops darkening stone and wood and casting small shadows against the two flames flickering beside the bed. Despite the heat and grime outside, the room was deliciously cool. I took my discarded armor, underclothes and my weapons and placed them all in the lone dresser facing the bed. The wood stuck and creaked in places, smelling of musty age. I found a large, men’s dressing gown in the cupboard as well so I slipped that on and curled into the soft, pliable leather blanket of the bed and fell asleep as soon as my head reached it.

 

* * *

 

In my dreams I couldn’t move. Pages of old, rotting books flew all around and broken, black-veined walls surrounded me. Prone and unable to reach my weapons or cast spells, all I could manage were glances upward. The air was oppressive and it felt like I was choking on… that couldn’t be right. _Words?_ Choking on words?Dark, blurred splotches filled my vision and I kept hearing a murmur, a chant.

_Here in his shrine, That they have forgotten, Here do we toil, That we might remember…_

My head pounded. I’d taken some hits from some powerful mages before but this was beyond a simple stun. Those voices wouldn’t shut up, the chants occurring in a continuous tandem. I felt like there was a name on the tip of my tongue, like I _knew_ something but I couldn’t access it. I could see but I was blind. _C’mon_ , I told myself, _you’ve been in tighter situations, keep cool._ I took in a deep breath and released. Closing my eyes, I could hear thick viscous fluid making soft _pop_ noises and smelling something reminiscent of Urag gro-Shub and oil. Underneath my fingers I felt unevenly placed stone, polished smooth but it felt less like polish then it did like oil slick.

I opened my eyes and there was another, larger blackness in front of me. There might have been motion but I felt underneath the words, the incessant chanting. _And when the world shall listen, And when the world shall see, And when the world remembers, That world shall cease to be._ I heard something else, something that seemed familiar in another way. I heard it but I also _saw_ it.

_“Dovhakiin, ziil los dii du!”_

* * *

 

            I woke with a start, breathing hard. The dressing gown was drenched with sweat and I cursed under my breath. Bringing my knees to meet with my elbows, I held my head in my hands. Five years of dealing with dragons and daedra and full out civil war had taught me a lot but I had never learned how to brush off troubling dreams. _Damn it. What time is it anyway?_ I was going to be pissed if I had only gotten three hours of sleep; Paarthurnax never revelaed the secret to going weeks without sleeping before he flew off the Throat of the World, leaving me to deal with the straggling dragons Alduin had brought back. “Let’s not teach the Dragonborn to deal with sleep loss or traumatic dreams,” I wistfully muttered.

            I dragged my legs off the bed and clamored to get to the cupboard where my pouch was. The pouch had been a gift from a dremora pirate who thanked me for freeing him from an eternity bound to Mundus. Seemingly bottomless, all it took was a thought and I could grab what I needed. No wasted time digging around the plethora of useless junk I accumulated. I reached within and grabbed exactly what I was looking for: my timepiece. A relic from my past coupled with a reminder that I was a shit enchanter. I gave up trying to be a proper mage long ago but I still had my knowledge of other spells. The timepiece, despite my failure at enchanting, worked no matter where I was or what was going on. All it told me now was that the early morning sun was probably breaking the horizon now.

            I didn’t feel well rested but decided that feeling was far from my reach. _Once I figure out who’s trying to kill me. Maybe I’ll let myself sleep a few days._ I grabbed all of my underclothes and flung them outward, flourished with a hearty _snap!_ Grey, muted ash floated toward the ground and settled on the stone beneath me. “By the Eights, Nines, and _Tens_ ,” I muttered. I didn’t pray to the Nines but they were useful when I needed something to blaspheme.

            Fully dressed and armored, I adjusted my quiver and enjoyed the feeling of the ebony arrows shift with the motion. I reached back and felt the soft black fletchings at their ends. My hands moved down and touched the hilt of my sword. The black, wickedly-curved blade pulsed with icy-blue light like fine veins. A number of warriors and thieves I’d met carried many more weapons than that; daggers hidden within the folds of the cloth belts, hand axes hitched on the other side of a sheath, maybe a mace to back-up a two-handed warhammer. I only needed two: a blade and a bow. Finally, I slid on my mask and hood while flicking my cloak outward, prepared to find who this Miraak guy was that the cultists followed.

            I closed the doors behind me as I walked out and locked it with the key Geldis had given me earlier. I didn’t have anything important left in there but I liked my privacy. I felt my feet heavy underneath the weight of my fatigue. My pouch made no sound as I moved, the contents non-existent on this plane at the moment and my arrows clicking in the quiver. I made a mental note to find a blacksmith today so I could craft some more arrows. I had ebony ingot to spare that was for certiain.

The architecture didn’t give away the time of day, the flickering lights still casting shadows, the black blobs reminding me of my dream. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the thought. Geldis was tending to the bar while an orc and his dark elf companion sat in two chairs next to one another, sipping drinks and eating hearty portions of salted meat. I sat down at the bar, attracting their stares but no further reactions. I pulled out a couple of septims from my pouch and slid them over to Geldis, guiding them with an index and a middle finger. “A mug of your best.”

            “Good morn, m’lady. I’ve got ashfire mead but…” he dropped his voice to whisper, “I do have my own special blend of s _ujamma_.” He took the coins and expertly flipped them into a metal cup, the sound ringing out through the silence.

            “I told you to drop the ‘m’lady.’And if sujamma is what Teldryn had last night then no.”

He arched his already too-high eyebrow up further and _tsk_ ed at me. “Shame on you, c’mon now. Where’s your spirit?”

            I suppressed the urge to say something rude. “ _Fine_ ,” I took the mug he offered and threw back a gulp. “Hmm.” Examining it again, I took another sip. “Not bad, I suppose.”

            “Psht, ‘not bad,’ she says. Best damn brew this side of Morrowind.”

            “Yeah, sure.” I pulled out the timepiece again. “You seen Teldryn yet?” Geldis shrugged. “Great. More waiting.” I rubbed the timepiece with my thumb before I popped it into my bag, wondering if I could get any answers from this guy. “So, do you know of someone named Miraak?”

            He stopped what he was doing and looked upward thoughtfully. “Well, now, that certainly _sounds_ familiar but… I… I can’t seem to remember.”

            I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between his response and Captain Salt-Sage’s voice when talking about the confusion around the situation. “Alright then. Heard any rumors lately?” Maybe I’d find something useful digging around the gossip.

            “Ah. Well, some talk of werewolves…” Geldis continued but I ignored him.

            I groaned. _Werewolves_. One of the many creatures I couldn’t stand. The Companions were useful enough in their own way but becoming a werewolf was the _absolute_ worst experience—bones crunching, flesh stretching, tendons twisting, and insides on fire. I rid myself of the curse as soon as possible, throwing it back in Hircine’s face. Better to focus on now. “Guards around here can’t handle simple problems?”

            “The Redoran guards? They’re warriors who are dressed finely in bonemold but have enough problems here. House Redoran is one the Great Houses of the Dunmer and this is their city. Their captain is Modyn Veleth; he comes around here every morning from around eight until ten if you’d like to meet him.”

            “Why so regularly?” I took another sip.

            “Ah… well…” he looked down at the bar. “ _Personal_ matters.”

            I snorted, “Don’t worry, I don’t care _that_ much.”

Geldis laughed. “So, can I get you anything to eat?”

            I wasn’t sure I could stomach anything but alcohol but I had no idea if I’d be eating again today. “You have anything sweet?”

            “I don’t usually sell these to customers but…” again, he dropped his voice conspiratorially, “I do have a sweet roll underneath here that I was saving for myself later.”

            “By Azura…” I felt guilty for showing such personal favor, but I had a weakness for sweets, “I’ll pay you a whole septim for it.” I was already digging another coin out of my pouch when I felt a hand come down on my shoulder.

            “Can’t have the lady paying for her own sweet rolls, can we?” Teldryn slid a septim to Geldis. “Good morning. How’s my patron doing?”

            Deciding to ignore most of his address, I waved at him dismissively. If he wanted to use his measly fee to pay for my food, then so be it. I wasn’t one to turn down free food. Geldis handed me the roll and I practically inhaled it, washing down the crumbs with the last of the sujamma. With food, it was actually pretty good. Teldryn was still clad in all of his armor so his stare was inorganic, the two lenses reflecting my own gaze back at me. “So, what did you have planned for today?”

            I readjusted my mask. “I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep and I really need to talk to more people, get some more information.” I wiped some crumbs off the bar onto the floor.

            “No rush here,” he gave Geldis a few coins in exchange for a mug of sujamma and some heavy bread. He didn’t eat it as eagerly as I ate my roll but he did so steadily. “Hope we don’t run into too many ash spawn out there,” he said off-handedly. Teldryn didn’t pry too hard into what information I sought. That held some promise.

            I would have inquired further about the ash spawn but I was just _too tired_. There was always _something_ to run into and then there was always something to kill. “Any blacksmiths around? Alchemists?” Before setting out on a long trip, I needed to repair and restock. Possibly spend some time crafting my own potions.

            Teldryn began to say something when Geldis cut in, “You’re very close to both actually. The Ienth family sets up shop and offers general goods and alchemy services. Milore works the alchemy and Garyn is an ash farmer. Glover Mallory runs the smithing right across the way there.”

            My ears perked up. “Mallory?” There was no way it was possible, but through all my travels I had only met one other Mallory: Delvin, Breton and thief. I would have to check into it later.

            Teldryn finally got a word in edgewise, “I’ll need to see Glover, get a couple of things checked out before we head out.” He tossed me a glance. “If that’s alright with _you_ , of course.”

            Gods spare me. “Yes, fine. Let’s be off then.”  

            “Lead on.” As he moved back, I noticed what looked to be an Elven sword and dagger. He traveled light as well. I wondered briefly if he knew a few spells. Maybe this guy would end up being an advantage. I waved to Geldis, glared at the two big guys still sitting and talking, and headed up the stairs. Teldryn stayed behind me and stayed silent, thankfully. Upstairs it was empty. I absent-mindedly wondered where Drovas was but thought nothing of it. As I walked out, I saw the blacksmith forge and some empty stands all centered around a well. I took out my timepiece again. It was close to eight but no one but the guards were about.

            “Teldryn, I’m assuming you’ve lived here for a while, right?”

            “I've called Raven Rock my home for a number of years. Azura knows why. It's a mess.”

            A mess was an understatement. Where were all the people? “Is it usually this… _empty?_ ”

            “Now that you mention it, this is uncharacteristic.” He motioned toward a guard, “ _Sera_ , where is everyone?”

            The guard looked across at something I couldn’t quite make out. “Late last night, a lot of people just left their houses in a daze. They were chanting and walking toward the old ruins over there.” He gestured. “We’ve had some people do this during the day but this is the first time this has happened.”

            Teldryn moved to where he could get a better look at what the guard pointed at. “Hmm. Looks like one of the old All-Maker stones. Are they… rebuilding it?”

            I groaned again. “I don’t actually care about _any_ of this. I just need some merchants. Anyone else in town?”

            The guard shook his head, “No, I…” Teldryn whistled.

            “What?” I asked. I looked and saw a horde of people walking towards us. “Are those… the people?” I could barely make out their faint chanting. It sounded familiar.

            “I’ve seen some things on this island but this? _This_ is unusual,” Teldryn sounded mildly amused.

            And then I could hear it. _Here in his shrine, That they have forgotten, Here do we toil, That we might remember…_

My stomach turned and my knees felt weak. “No,” I whispered. I saw Teldryn turn his eyes on me and I thought I could see him frown underneath the red fabric. I shook my head. “What are you looking at?” I snapped. I hated feeling weak and I hated others seeing me feel weak.

            He raised his hands defensively. “Nothing.  What do you want to do?”

            I put a hand on my hip and then rested my head in the other, bowing it in frustration. “I guess this means I need to talk to someone who knows this place intimately. Let’s go talk to Arano.”


	2. Another Day, Another Dead Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for coming back to check out RoS! If you notice, these beginning chapters follow the Dragonborn DLC quests pretty closely as we're getting to know Rook and Solstheim. One of the biggest changes I've been making in editing earlier chapters is more foreshadowing for the ending (which I had changed drastically upon realizing I wanted to dedicate the time and effort into making it a series). Another, more embarrassing part of editing is going back and seeing the BAD dialogue choices and clunky flow. In this chapter, it's the first time we see Rook and Teldryn in battle and at one point I had her using a bow but in the next breath she grabs her sword. Little things like that. But, lucky you! I'll stop yammering so you can enjoy the fancy, shiny version! Thanks for reading, kudos are valued, and reviews are appreciated! -Ash

I found Adril Arano with Councilor Morvayn. Teldryn muttered something like, “Shocking,” in response. Both were heavily protected by Redoran guards and I was only granted a request to speak with him after promising his wife, Cindiri, that I’d go find some folio she’d lost in exchange. I just hoped since I hadn’t negotiated a price she would think I do the job for free. Intimidating people wasn’t my favorite way to negotiate; shaking people down didn’t make me feel guilty but it was a waste of energy, which I had precious little of to be bothered with silly things like needing to meet with a man who obviously had no interest in his wife. Teldryn knew to stay quiet though. Thank the gods.

            By the time I finally got to Adril, he felt the need to tell me about the history of Solstheim and Raven Rock in particular. I absent-mindedly nodded, hoping my serious-looking mask would cover up the fact that I did not care about his problems. This usually happened whenever I went fact finding. Someone _always_ thought I cared or wanted to help. “This is the Dragonborn,” I’m sure they reasoned, “ _Of course_ she’ll want to help the Nords of Skyrim.” The disappointment on their faces was always palpable when I told them, “No compensation, no service.”

            He was drolling on about the city of Blacklight when I finally interrupted him, deciding to approach the situation directly. “Do you know who Miraak is?”

            Again, a confused look and a tied tongue. “I... I'm unsure. I swear I know the name, but I cannot place it.”

            Not this again. “You sure you can’t tell me _anything_ else about him?”

            I could see him working his thin face into thought, as if he almost had something but then lost it again. “I don't think so. I'm not... The name has something to do with the Earth Stone, I think. But I'm not sure what.”

            The Earth Stone must have been what the enthralled citizens of Raven Rock had been diligently working on last night. “Thanks, I’ve got what I need.”

            “Stay out of trouble, _Outlander_ ,” the last word came out as a sneer. Adril had quite a sense of self-importnce despite being Lleril Morvayn’s lap dog. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing I couldn’t stand more than someone who thought they were worth more than they were. I waved a wrist flippantly as I turned on a heel and shoved past two guards, making sure to hit one of them with my quiver. I could hear the man grumble almost inaudibly and as Teldryn stepped by me I could hear him stifle a laugh. I opened the door out and let Teldryn shut it behind him. I turned left and with each step the ash rose up before settling around my boots. I kicked a rock toward an urn, the earthy sound of clay making a dull _thump_ as it bounced off. I heard the sellsword behind me, the sound of his chitin clapping against one another. I walked faster, my hands bunched into fists as I walked past Glover Mallory’s shop, its doors locked and the smith inside, probably sleeping in late due to his bout of sleep working.

            “I really wanted to get my armor looked at before venturing out, but I’m sure Glover will be up soon,” Teldryn said behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and almost told him I didn’t need commentary but all I could get out was a half-hearted shrug. I took another left and got a better look at the stone that some people were still working on. The stone itself stood vertically, the top rounded off. The workers were building arches above the stone around the glowing green stone. There were a few trees surrounding the area, a makeshift scaffold close to the work site. As I stepped closer, I noticed there was a Dunmer in mage’s robes surveying the construction. He didn’t seem to be entranced as the others were. I strode up next to him. He glared at me and squinted hard. “You there... you don’t quite seem to be in the same state as the others. Very interesting. May I ask what it is _you're_ doing here?” He sounded disinterested, cocky. _Great_.

            “What does _that_ mean?” I retorted.

            “I'm not sure, but it is fascinating, isn't it? Perhaps it has some relation to what's going on here. Quite unexpected. I'm afraid I can't give you any answers but there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak's toward the center of the island. If I were you, I'd look there.”

            I squinted at him now, suspicious of his immediate mention of Miraak. “I’m actually looking for someone named Miraak. You know anyone by that name?”

            “Miraak...Miraak...,” he drew out the last syllable, as if he was rolling the sound around in his mouth. He stroked his long, pointed beard. “It sounds familiar but I can’t quite place...” His eyes widened. “Oooooh. Wait. I recall. But that makes very little sense. Miraak's been dead for thousands of years.”

            Not the absolute _strangest_ thing I’d ever heard but, still, pretty odd. “You aren’t affected by this either, so what’s your story?”

            The dark elf scoffed at me, “ _I_ am Neloth, a master Enchanter, and _I_ am doing _research_. I usually prefer such work at home but this is _quite_ interesting. I have gone to some pains to ensure that I am immune to many forms of control.” He flicked back his cloak, loosening some offending dust from the ends. He inspected his fingernails afterwards, I suspected to check for any offending ash caked underneath.

            I raised an eyebrow. “So you have ways of protecting yourself but you haven’t tried to stop this?”

            His eyes widened and his mouth dropped a little. He brought a hand to his chest and sputtered out, “Certainly not! Doing so would interfere with whatever is going on, and I would be unable to see how this all turns out.” Class act this guy, but my sort of resource: someone with unlimited wants and no scruples to attain it. I nodded slowly, thinking.

            “And where can I find you, Neloth? You know, if I need you for anything?”

            He turned his attention back to the work site and threw back his head. A nostril flared on one side of his thin, sharp nose. “If you think that you’re,” he side-eyed me, “ _Capable_ enough, you can find me at my home, Tel Mithryn.” I looked over at Teldryn, hoping for confirmation that he knew the place. Instead, he shrugged and I audibly groaned in response. And here I had hoped he would know the tiny island like the back of his hand. Well, if Teldryn wasn’t completely useless with his sword as well, maybe I could convince him to do whatever side work would eventually come my way and skim some of the profit. Neloth noticed the exchange and added, “Just head southeast as far as you can. If you miss it, you are hopeless.” He didn’t look interested in talking anymore so I gave up trying. I walked closer to the stone, the hum of the glow becoming audible. Almost as annoying as nirnroot. _Almost_.

            I stood at the edge of the lip of the circle, balancing on the arch of my feet and leaning back with the arms crossed. The water looked _wrong_. The workers’ eyes were glazed over, their attention too sharp. I took a step back and stared at the stone. The sound was hurting my head slightly and reminded me of the chanting I had heard last night and this morning. My palms were sweaty as I rubbed my fingertips across my gloved palm. The grit and the sweat intermingled, a slight feeling of dread washing over me. Who was Miraak? He was powerful enough to have followers, command control over those who were unwilling to submit, and _know my name_. This man had been dead for thousands of years and still had this kind of pull beyond the grave.

            I swallowed back my inhibition and turned back toward Neloth and Teldryn. I motioned toward Teldryn and said, “We’ve got a temple to find. I need a map.”

            “I’m sure Fethis Alor would have something for us. I think I saw him coming back this morning with the others. We should give him some time to wake up.”

            I had to agree. Those people had been awake all night working on… whatever this was. “I saw an alchemy table outside. Is that free for anyone to use?”

            “Sure.”

            We began to slowly walk back, both of us quiet.

            I stopped to pick up some of the spiky grass that was brushing against my legs. The edges looked angry, like thorns, but the cool in color. “What’s this called?”

            Teldryn reached over and brushed the edge of one I was holding with his finger. “Scathecraw. Grows out here in the ash and is pretty useful for a variety of potions: stamina, health, magicka.”

             “Good to know,” I folded the leaves and placed them in my pouch.

            We continued to walk, passing by some of the townsfolk who had been entranced.

Teldryn observed, “Looks like Fethis is up and running.” A dark elf busied himself tanning some leather beside a table. I pointed to the mine entrance near Fethis and his home. Before I could ask anything Teldryn explained, “That mine has been closed for a while. Caused a bit of a problem in town as you can imagine.”

            I couldn’t help myself. “Not related to the problem you’ve been having finding work, I gather?”

            He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You can imagine that this area doesn’t need even _one_ spellsword. I’m around if anyone has the coin but I made a sizeable sum working for my last patron in Skyrim. Been living off of that for the last few years now.”

             I dropped the conversation as we neared Fethis. “What have you got for sell?” I asked. “I’m looking for maps, most recent one you’ve got.”

            He chuckled amicably and motioned toward plain, wooden chest. “Got everything from potions to pitchforks. Take a look.”

            Squatting down to open the lid, I began to dig through the old parchments and rolls of paper. I heard Teldryn and Fethis talking behind me in what could have only been Dunmeris but paid them no mind. I unfolded and folded, sifting through the piles of dank smelling pulp. Some just had the lay of the island with no markers, some had only sections of the island traced with lots of markers. Ideally, a balance between the two would be nice; it would be far too much to ask for a fully charted map in this woefully poor and forgotten outpost.Towards the bottom I found a badly stained map but it was the whole island with a few markers in the north, south, west and east. The large brown stains that covered some areas were lamentable but it was the best I was going to get.

            Without bothering to examine it in detail, I handed it to Fethis. He frowned upon a closer look at what I was hoping to purchase. “ _If_ that’s the one you want, then I won’t even charge you for it. It looks fairly useless.”

             “ _Useless_?” I groaned. Gods damn it all.

            He nodded. “To you anyway. It’s old and some of it is marked with strange symbols. Some are marked in old Dunmer tongue so Teldryn could help you there but look here,” he pointed to a few places in the north and a place near the center. “Not even a language.”

            My cursory glance hadn’t caught the faded and waterlogged marks that lay dead center on the parchment but upon a closer look, I couldn’t contain my laughter.  

            “Care to let us in on the joke?” Teldryn asked.

            “It’s a language alright.” I pointed to the one in the center that Fethis had motioned to. “And _that_ says ‘Miraak.’” The angled scratch-like markings were _very_ familiar: dragon tongue.

            I could feel Teldryn regarding me carefully. Slowly he inquired, “Aaaand that’s where we’re heading then?”

Purposefully ignoring him, I grinned. Elated that I had stumbled onto some good luck, I pulled my well-worn journal out of my pouch and tucked the map into its pages. Fethis stared wide-eyed how I could tuck the large and bulky book neatly into something that, at best, appeared to carry a few trinkets. “And what, may I ask, is _that_ little wonder?”

            I cocked my head and shrugged. “Never seen an enchanted pouch before?”

            He shook his head, “Nothing like that before. I’d pay a great deal for it.”

            “No,” I rejected flatly. This was really killing my mood.

            He shrugged. “Well, if in your travels you find something interesting, bring it to me first. I have a number of buyers interested in rare items.”

            “Sure, whatever,” I muttered. My feet had already started towards the outskirts of town, not wanting to have _another_ discussion with _another_ merchant about my pouch. The conversation never failed to irritate me. Teldryn offered to take the map and look over the routes we could take. I let him take lead to the exit of the town and allowed my mind to wander.

Who _exactly_ was Miraak? The cultists who attacked me had been wearing odd masks but nothing that I recognized. His connection to the dragons was undeniable now, his temple ruins marked on the map. I had my guesses. If I was being referred to as the _false_ Dragonborn then the cultists must have believed someone else was the _true_ one—possibly Miraak himself? That made no sense, because—as far as I knew—I was the only Dragonborn to have never been part of a long line of rulers in Tamriel. So unless Imperial emperors made a habit of retiring to Morrowind, his connection to dragons might be something a bit simpler.

The name _Miraak_ itself was of dragon tongue, much like the dragons had given me _Thuri_. Perhaps he had some connetion to the ancient Dragon Cult on Skyrim? I thought Rahgot was the last of the Dragon Priests but it was possible that Miraak came to the island to avoid death at the hands of Skorm Snow-Strider, not knowing the Nord had retired shortly after finding the last of the cult. We had just finished walking up a hill that led out of town, the underground tunnel-like trail leading out toward muted daylight when I ran into Teldryn who had stopped.

            “Well, if you wanted to get _close_ to me you could have just asked,” he remarked, glancing behind him to toss me what could have only been a smirk underneath his kerchief. I glared as best I could through my mask and brusquely pushed him aside to see what was going on. From behind me I heard, “Alright, not in a joking mood I take it.”

            “I’m never in a joking mood. What’s going on out there?” A few of the Redoran Guard swung greatswords at creatures I didn’t recognize. I saw the hand of one glow red and then aim a fireball toward one of the guards. “Great. Ranged and close-quarter attacks.”

            He nodded, more somber now. “Ash spawn. Wherever there’s ash, they seem to crop up. Nasty things too. The old Attius Farm is a hot bed for them.”

            I had no interest in helping the guard out of the goodness of my heart, but they might be a little more willing to let my petty crimes slide by if they knew I could be a powerful ally. It didn’t happen often but sometimes I got sloppy and got caught picking a lock, mostly thanks to my impatience. Lending the local guards a hand usually bought me a couple of free passes. 

            I assessed the situation; the ash spawn didn’t look too bright. “You can hang back if you want but I’m going to take care of this.” As close as I could get to the edge of the battle yet near enough so as not to get singed, I focused an attack. It took me a moment to center myself as I dug in my heels into the ash, not used to the amount of give it had. I snapped my fingers and heard the familiar crackle of the atronach forming. In the next second I threw out my hand in the direction of the battle. The dark purple void collapsed inward for a moment and then outward a storm appeared, gathering rocks from its surroundings to mold a form for itself on this plane. Electricity sizzled around it and it began throwing the energy at the ash spawn.  

“FALL BACK!” I yelled at the guards. Hoping they would follow my lead, I gathered my bow and an arrow. I quickly took aim at one of the spawn, drew back, and released. It must have been previously weakened because it exploded into dust as soon as my arrow found its chest. The guards were at least smart enough to follow in my stead, loosing arrows and moving away from the thick of the conflict. Another vortex of dark purple _vwooshed_ close to me and I drew another arrow towards the flame atronach spinning itself into a form. A moment away from loosing it, I flinched when a hand came down on my shoulder and guided my bow’s aim from the summon.

            “Sorry about casting so close to you. Didn’t want your storm to think it was a spawn conjure,” he explained. His atronach flew gracefully, looking like a dancer as it spun and scooped fire out of the air and then threw it at the spawn. I felt the earth shake as my own atronach gave way and sent waves of bolts out toward the remaining spawn, sending them to their knees. The flame atronach scooped another ball of fire out of nothing and spun again, the fire inside its molten form glowing. The horns gave an outline to a firey, eyeless head focused on the ash spawn. Its clawed hands reached for another scoop of fire but one of the guards—misunderstanding as I had—drew back an arrow and released into its back, causing it to grow brighter and lose form. It exploded and a wave of fire washed over the remaining spawn, ash swirling and then settling down all around us. The guards had turned their backs on the explosion, letting the fire wash over their golden armor. Teldryn and I had stood far enough back that by the time the flames reached us, it nearly licked our boots.

            “Well, then,” I dusted my hands off with each other, sending more ash into the air. “That’s that.”

            Teldryn and I walked closer to the guardsmen, some of them kneeling beside a fallen comrade and some of them inspecting the piles that remained of ash spawn. One of the ash spawn had run the dead Dunmer through with an ash-made weapon, taking advantage of the space between his helm and chest plate. The congealed blood running down his armor looked drained of color as it mixed with the ash that had killed him. One of the guards approached me and removed his helm.

            He offered a hand. “Thanks… wasn’t sure I’d make it off this farm alive. I wish I could have said the same for my man here.” Noticing I wasn’t offering my hand back, he withdrew his and began shielding his face from the blowing ash around us. “Impressive work. These things are a danger to Raven Rock and need to be stopped.”

            “Thanks,” I said, no real gratitude behind my words. “So how did you end up here?”

            “I was searching for clues that might lead me to wherever they were coming from. It wasn’t the best place to start but we know they’ve been coming from this direction…” he trailed off, looking at his fallen soldier.

            Before I could say anything, one of his soldiers ran up to him with a note. “Captain Veleth, we found this on one of the ash spawn.” The captain took the note, looking over it. His face began to twist in confusion.

            “This doesn’t make any sense. It’s a declaration of war.”

            “War?” I asked. Another war was all I needed around me.

            He handed me the letter. I sighed, not wanting to become involved but taking it anyway. For all I knew, Miraak could be involved. I glanced over it, not seeing his name. Something caught my intention though. “The Imperials? Has the Empire decided to come after Morrowind in the most inconvenient way possible?” General Falx Carius’s signature lay at the bottom of the document.

            Veleth shook his head. “He was part of an Imperial garrison at Fort Frostmoth but he died over two hundred years ago, after the Red Mountain leveled the place. There’s no way he can still be alive.”

            “Well, this Carius person doesn’t seem to know that,” I handed him back the letter. “Good luck at Fort Frostmoth.”

            He shifted. “Yes…” I could hear the beginnings of a request in his voice.

            I groaned. “Spit it out.”

            “The Redoran Guard are all the people of Raven Rock have to protect them from these spawn. I don’t feel comfortable leaving the town behind unguarded and I would hate to lose any more of my men.”

            I rolled my eyes. “Of course not. I _could_ lend you a hand…” he smiled, “…for a price.” His mouth dropped.

            “Don’t give me that look,” I chastised. “Instead of,” I motioned around at all the soldiers, “ _all_ these capable, strapping men, you’re paying for a discreet and effective third party who will do your dirty work for you.”

            “With her third party, strapping spellsword,” Teldryn interjected. I shot him the best dirty look I could.

            Veleth suppressed his grin by acting like he was clearing his throat. I directed my look at him. “Well, then. How about seventy-five hundred gold?”

            I shook my head. “This sounds like a lot work that’s going to take me away from my destination. That and my ‘impressive work’ costs. I can do more than simple magic tricks.”

            Veleth relented, “If you call that atronach a simple artifice then I’ll trust you have some tricks that are even more clever. Ten thousand it is.” He put out his hand again and this time I shook it, binding our agreement. I turned and walked past Teldryn, hearing him close at my heels. Dried plants cracked beneath my feet as I glanced around at the ruins of the farmhouse. I couldn’t fathom what could possibly grow in this ash; the farms of Skyrim—even if covered in snow—saw earth and green at _some_ point.

            As if he read my mind Teldryn supplied, “This farm hasn’t been in operation in a while but you can still find some ash yams that grow up around. Stubborn things. They’re a part of a lot of meals here… well, except for desserts. They aren’t that sweet.” I felt heat rise to my cheeks at his gentle prod. I could just see it now: everytime we sat down to eat he was going to joke about my sweet tooth.

I didn’t allow myself to become rattled so I made no response except to continue walking. We traveled until I felt comfortable stopping and discussing a plan with Teldryn. We didn’t know each other _that_ well but it seemed like he wasn’t causing too many problems for me, save for his occasional comments. Obviously, he was capable enough to handle himself in a fight so there was no worry of him dying on me any time soon unless something unexpected occurred. I could send him on Veleth’s mission, offer him eighty percent, and reap a small profit while also gaining a little leniency with the guards. In the mean time I could head to the temple.

            I sat down on a nearby rectangular-shaped rock jutting out and motioned for him to join me. “So, how far away is this fort?”

            He sat close to me, unfolding the map in front of us such that it could rest on both of our laps. “You have anything to mark this with?”

            I produced a piece of worn charcoal out of my pouch. “Here.”

            He regarded me momentarily and then turned his attention back to the map. “This is Raven Rock and this,” he marked the place with an X, “is Attius Farm.” He moved the charcoal over to a place already marked on the map with a rectangle with three dots on the top. “That is Fort Frostmoth.”

            “That looks fairly close.”

            “About a thirty to forty minute journey I’d say, accounting for if we run into any trouble. Which we might if that’s where the ash spawn are coming from.”

            “You interested in taking the job on your own? An eighty-twenty cut in your favor.”

            He shook his head adamantly, still looking at the map. “If I was interested in do-gooder work, I’d have volunteered my services at a cheaper price… for the same value.”

            I cocked my head. “If you think your skills are anywhere near mine, you are sorely mistaken.”

            He chuckled underneath his kerchief. “Suuuure. Which is why you hired me.”

            “I _thought_ I was hiring a glorified, overpaid tour guide but you don’t even know where that Tel Mithryn place is.”

            He laughed again. “Every bloody person on this island knows where that arrogant bastard’s overgrown mushroom is. He’s got a big enough head already. Didn’t need to add to it.”

            I was more than a little irritated. “So, what you’re telling me is that for eight thousand gold you won’t kill this guy who may or may not already be dead?” I almost let it go after that but had to drive in, “ _Despite_ the fact that you _claim_ to be as skilled as I am?”

            “What? Are you known in Skyrim for being a great warrior?” he drawled in amusement before looking back up from the map. I bit my tongue. “It might surprise you to hear this but some of us like the company of others.”

            “This might surprise _you_ but I’m suspicious of anyone who turns down easy gold,” I replied flatly.

            “And I like surrounding myself with powerful people.” Teldryn shrugged. “If I offered my services to every would-be adventurer that walked into the Retching Netch, I’d never have time to stop and sip the sujamma. I don’t need the gold _that_ badly.” He looked back at the map and marked something else with an X, labeling the spot a little north from Fort Frostmoth as Highpoint Tower. I looked at the map and pointed at the point marked as Skaal Village far in the Northeast. Before I could ask, he said, “A Nordic settlement actually.”

            “I thought ‘Skaal’ sounded uncharacteristic for the Dunmer.” It surprised me to hear there were Nords still living on the island.

            He sighed, the breath tinged with a hint of annoyance. “So, I take it we’re not going to discuss your offer or why I’m declining it any further?”

            “Yes,” I answered honestly. “There’s no point talking about things that don’t benefit me financially.”

            He clicked his tongue at me playfully. “Woman after my own heart.”

            I snatched the map from him. “So, for _some_ reason you are going to insist on staying with me. That means some traveling. More than I’d like considering how tired I am.”

            “If you’re tired then why not go get rest? You _do_ realize Raven Rock is a stone’s throw away from here?”

            “Yes. I should go sleep peacefully while there are people out there who want me dead.”

            For the briefest moment I thought I could see an eyebrow raise behind the glass of his lenses. “My, my, aren’t you an interesting person? Anything else I should know about? Like maybe your _name_?”

            I suppose it never occurred to me I never gave him anything to call me. “You can call me Rook.”

            “Rook? Never heard of any great warrior by that moniker while I was in Skyrim,” Teldryn joked, nudging me with his elbow. I didn’t bother responding.

            I rested my elbows on my thighs and planted my face in my hands. One hand slipped under my mask to rub an eye, tired and dazed. There was so much to do and now had someone who wanted to follow me around. The thought didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t know what dangers the temple held. What if he ended up getting killed? Nothing to be done about it if he refused to leave my side. At the very least, I’d be getting my money’s worth out of him.

“We should go to Fort Frostmoth and see how you shape out. If it isn’t too far, then no problem. We can snuff out Veleth’s ash spawn problem and collect some easy money. I still need to stock up on supplies and I’d like to talk to Glover Mallory before setting out. If he has the connections I think he does, then he’ll be an asset far better than any merchant could be. It looks like the temple might take a day and a half to get to from Raven Rock. I’d rather be prepared stepping into the unknown so this fort job might turn out to be useful if it means extra gold to sink into better provisions.”

            “That’s the spirit. I’d expected more fighting spirit from a Nord like you.”

            “Nord?” I spit out. “I’m _no Nord_.”

            “No?” he sounded surprised.

            “What? You have a spell that allows you to see through my armor?” As soon as the comment left my mouth, I watched a wide grin outline his kerchief. Before he could open his mouth, I raised a hand to stop him and answered, “I’m a Breton, born in High Rock and raised in Skyrim.”

            “Ah. Bretons always have at least a drop of Mer in them. No Nord tolerates that sort of transgression, do they?”

            I wasn’t smiling, not that he could see my reaction. “Enough chit chat.” I stood up. “We need to get going if we’re going to start our journey to the temple by nightfall.”

            He was wise enough to drop the topic which I was thankful for. I hated personal talk; it was never productive. We started off toward the northeast, walking at a comfortable pace. About halfway there, we ran into a small path of overgrown insects that Teldryn called ash hoppers. We both took out our swords and lazily stabbed through their abdomens as they swarmed around us and tried to bite through our armor. Some of the bites and pinches reached my upper legs and I could feel nips here and there but they were of little worry. Teldryn began to make a game of it, seeing how tired the hoppers would get before they began to retreat and would then stab them. He showed me how to properly cut the back legs off and how to collect the jelly and chitin. I would never use the chitin plates for armor but I was sure they would sell for a few coins if I collected enough. The jelly’s use ended at alchemy but the leg meat turned out to be surprisingly hearty. We stopped with the fort on the horizon line and made a fire, salted the meat, and gnawed on the tough sinew with little conversation.

            While we packed away our supplies and snuffed out the fire, I started talking strategy. “This fort looks pretty run down from here. Whoever is in there is going to be holed up in the upper levels if I had to take a guess.”

            “Remember what Veleth said, whole place brought down by the volume of the ash that crushed it? We should be prepared. Ash spawn aren’t usually picky about where they spawn; ash is ash.”

            “Of course they aren’t.”

 We were trudging upward toward the fort when a fireball whizzed past between the two of us. “Namira take me,” I muttered. “Teldryn?” I heard a familiar crackle and a _vwoosh_ as I saw a void appear between a group of the spawn and out of the void swirled a glowing element working on pulling together a form.

 “Already on it.” He pulled out his sword and his other hand began to glow red. I took out my bow and found an arrow, at the same time digging a potion out that would hopefully lower their resistance to magic, giving Teldryn an edge. As he ran to close the distance, I let an arrow fly and then grabbed another. I heard Teldryn give a triumphant shout as the last of the spawn exploded, the ash swirling around his atronach which had survived. As he returned, it followed behind with an ethereal, other-worldly grace. Although flame atronachs were inborn with light and energy, they moved as if they were underwater. Other atronachs lacked this kind of grace or elegance or deadly potency. Ice might be able to crush and drain; electricity might be able to shock and weaken a magicka link. But fire? Oh, _fire_. Flames consumed without end, sucking the life from the world bit by bit until it was satiated.

            I could see Teldryn smile widely from underneath his kerchief as he yelled down, still a little ways from me, “Looks like it’s clear at the entrance.” I met him at the door to the fort. “I was able to salvage these.” He handed me two ebony arrows, the fletchings covered in sooty ash. I took my thumb and index finger, running it down the shaft; I stroked the edges of the feathers, more ash gently spilling out.

            “Thanks. These _are_ my favorites,” I admitted.

            “Ready for some more fun? Looks like the ash doesn’t get any better inside.”

            “Oh, no,” I feigned disappointment. “And here I was hoping for bards _._ ”

             Teldryn gave me a solid slap on the back. “Don’t worry; despite the foul beings that infest this place, I'm certain we'll find plenty of wealth to make it worth our time.”

            “Azura, I hope so or I’ll make Veleth pay double. I don’t do _charity_ ,” the last word coming out as if I had just spit out rotten meat.

            He chuckled a little. “Woman after my own heart.”

            I rolled my eyes.“Say that again and I’ll demand half of my patronage back.”


	3. Fort of Ash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Two weeks into school and I'm already swamped with work. I'm really sorry I didn't post the updated chapter earlier! But a lot of you have been really kind in between the long periods of silence and I really appreciate your patience. Shout outs to SuFin20, SaffronTurtle, and Chitsukii for leaving kudos and an extra shout out to SuFin20 for their kind words. Thank you, guys! 
> 
> A couple of notes about the changes I made: wow, Rook and Teldryn's dynamic was REALLY stale originally in the first few chapters. Now that their history together is much stronger in my hands, it was a lot of fun to go back and add in extra dialogue or thoughts. It's amazing how disconnected the two seemed in the original publishing. Also, I noticed that I REALLY like to micromanage scenes, having the tendency to detail EVERY. SINGLE. ACTION. So, as that problem crops up I'll work on revising things. 
> 
> But onto the chapter! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing and leaving kudos! -Ash

             Teldryn had been right about the ash; the entrance to Frostmoth was wrought with the stuff, piles of it everywhere. The old guard towers surrounding the stronghold had ash spawn springing up like hidden sentries, Teldryn’s atronach taking care of the ones that were out of reach. At times I would search the remains and gather some ash for alchemy use later but quickly grew tired of having to stop every few minutes to do so. It took both of us to shove open the entrance door, the ash behind it refusing to give way. When we were finally in, I poked around to see if anything was in hiding. Once I was satisfied that there was nothing that posed as an immediate threat I motioned for Teldryn to come closer.

            “See that down there?” I pointed to the staircase that was near the back and seemed to spiral downward. “If I know my forts, we’re going to have to go down there and flush out whatever’s down there.”

            “And doubtless we’ll run into trouble,” he pointed towards a corner which held dusty and worn crates. “Think anything over there might help?”

            “I’d be pleasantly shocked if there was.” Despite my misgivings, I searched around the dilapidated crates full of discarded Imperial armor just in case. Something caught my eye. “Hello there, creme treat,” I endeared, walking over to a small strongbox half-covered in ash. I brushed the dust aside, investigating the lock. “Hmmm,” I mused.

            “What is it?” Teldryn asked, investigating something on the other side of the room.

            “Strongbox with an even stronger lock,” I answered. I dug into my pouch, grabbing a pick and my tension wrench placing them in position in the lock. I felt for the correct tumbler position with the pick and turned the lock with the wrench. I applied too much pressure while turning the lock and the pick broke. “Damn it,” I muttered as I grabbed another pick. Resetting the lock position, I placed the pick back into the tumbler. I felt Teldryn standing beside me, his arms crossed and a bemused “hmm” coming from his masked mouth. “Stop staring,” I told him.

            “I could do that for you,” he offered.

            “No thanks. I’m an expert at this sort of thing.” I heard the satisfying _click_ of the lock give way and the lid creaked as it opened. Sifting through the contents proved valuable. “Oh, this is a nice surprise.” I held up an amethyst, the soft purples reflecting off of itself. I pulled out another gem—an emerald flawlessly cut. “A _very_ nice surprise.” The box also held a few septims and a healing potion. I handed the potion and the gems to Teldryn, placing the septims in my pouch. I frowned as I pulled out a gemless, dull-looking necklace. It was embellished with a ship, the bronze tarnished. “How… worthless-looking.” I’d never seen anything like it before; I balanced the chain on my fingers, the pendant of the necklace dangling heavily, the weight of the pendant pulling it down. “Any idea what this is?”

            Teldryn considered it for a moment, his fingers turning over the circle and shook his head. “No idea. If it has any worth I bet Fethis could appraise it for you.”

            I heard something stir behind us, a moan coming from one of the piles. I dropped the necklace quickly into my pouch and withdrew my sword. “Namira take you,” I muttered as I rushed toward the spawn that had risen from one of the piles. The ash beneath my feet didn’t provide enough traction for a charge; I slipped as I thrust my sword into the chest of the creature, the force behind my strike driving me much more forward than intended. The dust exploded around me and I was able to trip forward without falling. I gained purchase on the stone floor the pile gave way to and braced myself upon a beam that was near. The dust pile swirled into a soft blue, icy from the strike of my enchanted sword. I sheathed it, coughing out dust.

            “Damn me, you’d think even the ash spawn would be bored by now of springing to life only to quickly die by one of our hands,” Teldryn kicked the pile and sifted through the dust with his foot, revealing a small brick. He scooped it up. “Would you look at that? Iron ore.”

            “ _Fantastic_ ,” I groaned. “Could we please just move on?”

            “My _deepest_ apologies,” he mockingly apologized, his voice amused. He dropped the ore, the weight kicking up dust as it hit the ground. “I saw another doorway,” he pointed. “It looks like there’s a ramp that leads up to a ladder.” I moved to a better vantage point and saw the rickety ladder that he mentioned and shook my head. Teldryn sighed. “I take it that is unacceptable.”

            “You can climb that thing if you’d like,” I walked toward the other doorway, leading to the stairs. “That thing doesn’t look safe.”

            “I’ll follow your lead then.”

            We descended the stairs, taking care to avoid any ash piles. I kept an eye out for any tap wires that might trigger a trap. “You have any experience in places like this?”

            “I told you I worked in Skyrim for a while, didn’t I?” I nodded in response. “Nord I worked for, one of his favorite activities was flushing out bandits that took camp in abandoned forts. These things are like a second home to me.”

            I didn’t question him any further. Getting close to my hires wasn’t ideal: a lot of them ended up dead anyway. “So these kinds of things are…” the staircase opened up into a large room, “…familiar.” I glanced around, suspicious.

            “Speaking of familiar, you seem to know your way around a lock. Hobby of yours?” he teased.

            I shrugged. “I know how to pick locks, nothing to tell.” Something felt off, I could feel the air popping on my fingertips and the ash was stirring. “Teldryn?”

            “Already on it,” he assured me. The Dunmer wasn’t shy in his preference for conjuration. His flaming beauty spun into form and started floating around, looking for the source of our suspicion. I followed suit, conjuring a twin for the atronach. If anything, I was grateful that Teldryn was more interested in asking me questions about lockpicking than my magic—both were complicated stories but greater suspicion surrounded the ability to snap one’s fingers and conjure a storm atronach. The two summons gracefully scoped out the area, checking out the empty closets and cells. I saw another corridor that led further down. I nudged Teldryn and he nodded knowingly. We continued down, the paths winding. The atronachs followed behind, not near us but still within our sight. “Concerning,” he commented.

            “Very.” I dropped down from a pile of ash and noticed another set of stairs. We hadn’t met with too much trouble and it was unsettling. The stairs opened up into another room. There was a table with a few soul gems scattered about and a few books. “Well, this looks troubling.” I grabbed a book that looked like a journal, the flap closed over the front. I opened it up while Teldryn pocketed some of the gems. I sat in a rotting chair, hoping it wouldn’t give way. I threw my legs upon the table and thumbed through the pages, frowning at its contents. “Well, good news: Carius _is_ dead.”

            “And the bad news?” he sifted through the contents of a satchel.

            “He’s now _undead_.”  I turned another page, the putrid smell of the book turning my stomach. It was a good thing I hadn’t eaten much today. “Possibly part of a necromancer’s experiment? Hard to tell.”

            “Necromancers. _Nasty_ busy. Never had the taste for _that_ kind of magick.”  

            “I find it a waste of energy myself.” I frowned again. “Whoever Ildari Sarothril was, she seems to be the one who resurrected Carius. Revenge is mentioned but it doesn’t give any details.” I pocketed the journal and stuffed it into my pouch, adding it to my collection. These sorts of things were never simple and straightforward—undoubtedly, her name would come up at least one more time while I was on the island.

            “Do you think Ildari is here?” He thumbed through some of the ruined books.

            “Instinct says no but it could be a trap. I’m more concerned about Carius. I’ve sparred with master necromancers and none could keep a corpse reanimated for more than a couple of minutes. It would seem Carius is much more… _robust_. She mentions heartstones. Know anything about those?”

            He glanced at me and shook his head. “I know they’re found in veins around here but have never used them myself. I’m _sure_ Neloth knows something about them.”

            I suppressed a chuckle at the irreverence in his voice. Neloth wasn’t the most modest person but I was certain he had a few tidbits of knowledge I could use. “Well, let’s press on.”

            We moved down another set of stairs, prompting Teldryn to comment, “How deep does this run?” We came upon another open space when I heard something. I threw out my arm, blocking Teldryn from moving any further and I put a finger to my masked mouth. “Shhh. I hear something.”

            I looked around and saw a few ash spawn lurking about. I motioned for my atronach to move forward and Teldryn’s followed; we moved out of the way and allowed them to pass. I could hear the surprised murmurs from the spawn as the fire began to fly. Teldryn moved forward, his hand threw an ice spike at the head of one, claiming its target. The form froze, began to fall and then shattered on contact with the floor. I couldn’t see it but I felt my atronach weaken and in the next moment, there was a flash of flame that consumed the tiny room. The rest of the spawn bent over on their knees. I took out my sword, strolled into the room, and swung wide. My blade caught two in the head and one in the arm; the first two burst into ash but the third stood back up. Before I could swing again, an ice spike flew by my face and landed squarely in the creature’s face. More dust caught me in the face. The mask and hood did a decent job at keeping the ash off of me but it was nowhere as effective as Teldryn’s method of armoring. I coughed until the muscles of my stomach stung.

            “That’s the second time that’s happened,” Teldryn observed, “You sure your face coverings are doing the job?”

            I coughed some more and ran a finger around the edges of my mask. “The mask only covers the front of my face. The hood is good for the ash blowing around, but in close quarters it’s only good for trapping it and then blowing it into the exposed edges. Stop worrying. We need to get moving.” In front of me was a well-stocked room, seemingly locked behind a gate. To my left was a doorway that was covered in thick spider webs and to the right was a dead end with a few scatter supplies lying about. “Would you mind unlocking that gate?”

            He crossed the room to take the lock pick I offered. While his back was turned I took off my maskfor a moment to allow the cool air of the lower levels of the fort to dry the sweat on my brow. I wiped my face with the inside of my hood that still covered my head. I repeated the action with the inside of the mask and then adjusted it back onto my face, securing its placement. I heard a _click_ and then Teldryn offering a smug, “Child’s play.” He turned to me. “Ladies first?” he offered.

            I sighed and shook my head. This was getting old. “You can drop the niceties. And no thanks. Just let me know if you find anything of interest.” I made my way to the doorway covered by thick webs. Running my hand across the barrier, I realized they weren’t characteristic frostbite spider webs. _Great_. I readied my sword and swung at the thick, sticky strands until the ends hung limp and thin. A deep passageway now visible, I ducked under the hole in the webs, peering inward. There were uneven, dirt pathways that led further down, the haze thick and the lighting poor. Teldryn came up beside me. “This looks pleasant.”

            “Anything in that room?”

            “Just a bunch of old supplies and a chest which was filled with septims, an axe, and a couple of pieces of paltry filigree.”

            “Keep it all. Sounds like useless junk to me right now.” I snapped my fingers and breathed out—a ball of light now in my palm. I threw it above me and climbed down, the candlelight spell strengthening in the dark. I crept to the edge of a high step and whistled. The sound echoed back to me multiple times. This might be deeper than I originally thought.

            Teldryn popped his head in through the entrance, “Anything interesting?”

            “ _Spiders_ ,” I whispered, hoping he’d take the hint to be quiet. “I’ve not seen their type before.” I saw Teldryn raise his hand and I placed a hand on his wrist, beckoning him to stop. “Don’t worry. Save your magic. I’ll go down and clear the area. The passageway is too small for both of us to fight effectively. Besides, I bet there are only a few down there. I can handle it. Wait here, see if you can find anything.”

            I hopped down, the steps just a little too tall for being able to walk down comfortably. Carefully hopping down another step to where the spiders were, I braced my sword again—this time preparing to defend myself. As soon as my feet made contact with the ground, they descended upon me. Springing towards my my face and chest, the spiders exploded into _flames_. I was able to shield myself from the first one, but the second and third hit me hard. I tried backing away by balancing on the edge of the platform where the nest of eggs laid but that only caused more to descend upon me. My arm burned with seering pain but I swung at the spiders that weren’t committing suicide, trying to decrease their numbers. Each time my sword ran through one, I relished the satisfying crunch of their soft bodies.

           Once I made sure they were all dead, I sheathed my sword and readied a spell. Swirls of golden light traveled like veins up my arm and I threw the healing spell into the air, allowing it to wash over me. The burns were granted instant relief and I flexed my fingers to see if movement would trigger hidden injuries. Once I was satisfied that the spell had done its job, I jumped into the crevice that surrounded the platform. Following it to its end, I found only more sticky webs and bundles of egg sacs that had already released their brood. “Damn it,” I said to no one in particular and began to make my way back to Teldryn. A fantastic waste of time and energy.

           “Thanks,” I grumbled, dusting myself off.

           “What?” he chuckled. “You realize the spiders on Solstheim aren’t like Skyrim’s?”

            I crossed my arms and cocked a hip. “You thought it would make for a good surprise?”

            He shrugged. “You seemed so Oblivion-bent on doing it yourself, who am I to stop you? _You_ hired _me_ , remember? You told me to stay, so I stayed. Besides, you seem more than capable of handling yourself.”

            “ _Fine,_ ” I threw up my hands. “Not like you would have been any help. You find anything?”

            “Yeah,” he said and gestured toward a wall. I walked over to get a better look. It wasn’t a wall but a half-collapsed doorway that, in the dark, I hadn’t realized led open into a deeper passage. “Looks like this will go somewhere.” The light above me flickered and died off.

            “Well then, my patron, lead on,” Teldryn offered. If he didn’t seem so damned competent, I probably wouldn’t have tolerated his mouth.

             Further into the fort, we were met with nothing. It wasn’t until we reached the bottom that an ash spawn crept up from around the corner and raised a spear toward my head.  My hand rushed to my side, unsheathing my sword; I was able to block the blow but just barely. The curvatures within the blade allowed me to lock the blocking motion a little longer than normal, allowing Teldryn to take out his sword and run it through the center of the creature. This time I turned my head away as the creature burst. Regaining my composure, I looked left and saw a room filled with coffins. In the center was a sarcophagus with a knapsack and satchel beside it. I rummaged through the contents of the knapsack.

            “Ah ha!” I exclaimed and drew out a key. “Fairly certain this will come in handy later on.” I dropped it in my pouch, satisfied that was all I needed from the room. Teldryn was in the back of the room, searching through an old chest. He pulled out a handful of septims.

            “The gold has been plentiful. I’ve almost made over half my asking price in this fort.”

            I smiled but shook my head. Nice to see he was having some fun, I supposed.

            We walked back out, heading down the other hallway, running into more coffins and ash piles. At the end of it, we found an alcove with a locked door. I pulled the key out of my pouch. “Time to see what’s behind the door I suppose.” I placed the key in the lock, the age affecting the ease of turning. The door creaked open, revealing a staircase that lead upward. “We’d better be prepared.”

            Teldryn nodded, already conjuring an atronach. It floated a few steps above us as I conjured one as well. I couldn’t imagine this was going to be wasy. They flew ahead of us slowly while Teldryn and I both readied spells in our hands. “How about some ice?” I asked, snapping my fingers to create a small swirl of icy blue in my palm.

            “Seems to have worked so far,” he agreed and put a little more effort into breathing forth his own spell.  

            “Stay close to me,” I warned, both of my hands now working to get the air around us bitter and cold.

            He edged close to me quickly, linking his arm with my own. His kerchief was no good at hiding his wide grin. “Yes, _m’am_.”

            “ _Teldryn_ ,” I hissed, sliding my arm from his. “I’m going to make sure we start swinging hard. Unless you’d _prefer_ to be on the wrong side of this blizzard.”

            “No thanks. I appreciate you looking out for me,” he nudged me playfully. I ignored him.

            Piles of ash everywhere greeted us at the top so I took cautious steps. I heard shuffling from deeper within the chambers. “Is someone there?” a male voice asked.

            “That must be him,” I whispered to Teldryn as we carefully pressed further in. My spell was heavy, weighing my hands down and causing them to shake.

            “There’re intruders on the fort! Repel them immediately!” screamed who I believed to be Carius.

            “Must be. Sounds like something an Imperial would say,” drawled Teldryn.

            At that moment, ash spawn sprung up all around us.

            I released my spell and a blizzard swirled around us, the snow turned into ice and the harsh wind cut through my armor. Our atronachs threw a few fireballs at Carius before they fell, washing him with flames as their forms gave way to the frigid air. In a matter of seconds the storm was over and all the ash spawn were on their knees. My hands glowing red now, I alternated between the two of them, hurling fireballs at the remaining spawn. Carius rushed at me, a nasty-looking cudgel in hand. As it swung down hard, he grunted and caught my side. The sheer force knocked me back and I fell to the floor.

            “Argh!” I doubled over, the pain centered on my rib cage intense and sharp. Every breath I drew felt belabored and I prayed to whatever god might listening that my lung wasn’t punctured. I haphazardly threw an ice spike at his face which barely caught the side of his helm. Glancing though it was, he was distracted. It allowed Teldryn to draw his sword and swipe at him. His golden blade caught the general’s arm. The Imperial’s grip released the cudgel and I threw another ice spike at him. He dropped to his knees, unable to move. It was a mistake to underestimate the ability of a frost attack to drain one’s energy.

             I wasn’t in much better shape. My breathing was ragged and I was unable to stand up straight. Now certain I had a few broken ribs, I used a support beam to hold me up as I threw a fireball, finishing him. I dropped to my knees, weak. I had strained my magicka link too strong in such a short period of time. The pain wasn’t _wholly_ unbearable but light armor wasn’t exactly great for taking hard blows from a two-handed weapon. My lungs seemed none the worse for wear though. Good enough.

             Teldryn raced toward me.

            “You alright?” He placed a hand on my shoulder, obviously concerned.

            “Yeah, just great,” I spit out. I yanked a large, blue bottle out of my pouch. I unstopped the cork, moved my mask out of the way, and took a deep swig. Feeling my magicka link strengthen, I started a healing spell. The warm glow grew stronger and I threw it over me. Instantly, some of the pain subsided. I exhaled. I took another swig and threw another wave of healing over me. I sat back against the pillar and rest my head against it, my mask still askew. I moved it back across the lower portion of my face. “He was a little more passionate about protecting this place than I thought he’d be.” I shifted.

            “That he was.” Teldryn pointed to a shelf and a chest. “I’m going to rummage around, let you have a moment to recover.” As he walked away, I could see him throw a weaker healing spell over himself. I took the moment to pull out my journal and grab a piece of charcoal. I opened it to the next free page and wrote, “Sun’s Height, Tirdas, 4E 202” at the top. At the bottom, I began to briefly describe the captain’s request, our journey here, and Carius’s death. As I closed the journal, Teldryn came over and handed me some potions. “Here. To replace anything you’ve lost.” I took the small red bottle and the large blue one.

            “Anything else over there?”

            “Just more septims and an enchanted necklace,” he handed me the necklace and I refused it, knowing it didn’t have any worth. “Some books.”

            I stood up slowly, my legs shaking a bit. “Well, as interesting as it sounds, I’m ready to get out of here. Let’s look for an exit.” We both looked around until we were able to find a locked door. The key from earlier opened it and we were greeted with more ash swirling around in the wind. I groaned. “I’m going to have ash in places I didn’t know existed after a week here.” I could just feel Teldryn raise an eyebrow. I shot him a look.                                                   

He sighed deeply. “Come now. You know I don’t mean anything malicious. It’s not as if I offered to examine you.”

            I waved at him dismissively.

            The door had led us to an outerwall of the fort so we had to walk around until we could find an exit down. The trip back to Raven Rock was uneventful, save for a few ash hoppers. While not in debilitating pain, my ribs could still feel the injury and I would have to slow down at times. Spells and potions could only do so much. I still had to deal with the pain that came with the healing process and it wasn’t always able to be ignored. Outside of Raven Rock, Teldryn offered me his hand as we began to trek up the hill. I scoffed at him. “Your last patron ask you to hold their hand while they were injured? I can imagine how cute that looked, you and a Nord skipping hand in hand after battle.”

            He tossed me what I could only guess was an equally sarcastic look. “And afterwards we supped on sweet wine and boiled creme treats.”

            I threw my hands up. “Fine, fine. I _thank you_ for your concern but I’ve walked away with worse.”

            He shrugged. “Just making sure my meal ticket stays alive.” We continued the rest of the way in silence. Walking down the streets, the town looked livelier. From a distance I could hear the hard clank of steel on steel; it could only mean that Glover Mallory was back in full swing. I looked out at the docks, noticing Salt-Sage and his men loading another haul onto the _Northern Maiden_. I was beginning to think Veleth was on duty when I saw him coming out of The Retching Netch. Fethis had hinted that Veleth was a regular but hadn’t divulged for what reason. “Captain Veleth!” I yelled. His head turned in my direction and he walked toward us.

            “What news do you bring from Fort Frostmoth?” he asked eagerly.

            “Well, not much. I killed General Carius. Well, again anyway,” I handed him the journal I’d found so that he could read the contents. He handed it back to me after he had thumbed through it.

            “I had my suspicions that he was undead… how else could he have survived two hundred years?” He shook his head sadly. “It’s a shame. There are quite a few tales of General Carius’s exploits, including the founding of Raven Rock.”

            “Let’s hope this will at least end the swarm of ash spawn he had been sending here,” I said, hoping to remind him of the immediate problem and our agreement.

            He reached into one of the pouches on his belt and added, “This is worth more than a soldier’s pay.” He handed me a pouch heavy with coin.

            I didn’t weigh it, not bothering to count the contents. I was more concerned with making sure these people knew that I didn’t do anything for free. I placed it into my pouch. “That’s because I’m worth more than a soldier.”

            Captain Veleth shook his head. “Thank you anyway.” He wished us farewell.

            “What now?” Teldryn asked. “We’ve still got a whole day ahead of us.”

            “I’d like to see Mallory,” I motioned to my armor. “Healing spells are good for my body, not my armor.” There were splotches of burn marks and holes on many parts of the chest plate and gloves. However, it wasn’t just armor I wanted repaired; I wanted to know if he was related to Delvin. If so, that meant I’d have a connection here on Solstheim—someone I could trust. Or at least have _someone_ who’d have a small measure of knowledge about my influence and power. I wasn’t exactly announcing myself as the Dragonborn on Morrowind but it might serve me well to have Glover recognize me as the Guild Master of the Thieves’ Guild.

            “To Mallory it is then,” he proclaimed and we walked over to meet the blacksmith.


	4. No Wind for a Sail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely a hard chapter to edit (as I suspect later ones will be as well). Some of the hardest changes have the best results though in my opinion. A number of dialogue scenes with Rook and Teldryn in this chapter--as well as later ones--really reflected the fact that RoS was the first thing I'd ever seriously put effort into but was still pretty new to the fiction writing game. Part of the issue was not having the benefit of Rook's backstory fully fleshed out from the start (or parts of it evolved from writing RoS) and, without that, a lot of scenes were one-dimensional.
> 
> Shout outs! Thanks to some new kudos from a guest and from a LONG time reader of Rook's stories, birgittesilverbow! Thanks guys! Special thanks to SaffronTurtle for leaving a comment; I'm glad you're enjoying the story. 
> 
> Alright, on to the chapter!

Blacksmithing wasn’t my favorite activity. There was always soot and sparks flying and the clank of metal on metal wasn’t the most pleasant of sounds close up; my ears were ringing and my fingers numb. Glover Mallory was busy talking with a patron when we walked up so I motioned toward the workbench and asked, “Can I?” With a brisk nod, he continued talking with the Dunmer and I went to work.

Teldryn sat at the grindstone, sharpening his blade. I had taken off my gloves and chest plate, hammering away and smoothing the kinks that I could manage. I’d have to get Mallory to repair the more severe damage but this would shorten our time underneath the oppressive roof that kept in the sweltering heat. The only relief was from the wind that occasionally blew in from the open areas, albeit with a bit ash mixed in. I slammed a hammer down hard on a piece of plate, my hand shaking with the vibration. I felt a large body behind me and Mallory’s voice laughing. “You’re doin’ that all wrong there.”

            I brought the hammer down again. “I’m not looking for art,” I grunted, wiping away some metal dust from the edge of the plate. “Just looking for functional.”

            He made a thoughtful noise before pushing me aside gently, a large hand guiding my hip away. “You better let me take care of this.”

            I grumbled but wasn’t offended at the offer. “Have at it. I hate this kind of work.”

            The grindstone stopped and Teldryn stood. “Glover.” He pointed to a place on his chitin plate that I couldn’t see. “I’ve been a bit busier than usual.”

            “This lady been giving you trouble?” He joked, turning his attention to my plate mail and struck it again. Teldryn unhooked his chest plate, the chitin causing his hands to buckle for a moment. As he and Mallory discussed the armor’s problems, I surveyed the life around the town’s commercial hub. No one seemed particularly suspicious so I allowed myself a moment’s rest and leaned against the door to Mallory’s home. His voice carried over the hammering to me, “Glover Mallory’s the name by the way. If you’re looking for a smith, you’ve found one of the best. That means my services don’t come cheap.”

Before my mouth could respond for me, my eye caught something on a brick beside me. Examining it closer, I smiled widely and walked over to the bench flanking his other side. “Teldryn, go be busy somewhere else for a bit.” Surprisingly, he simply nodded and walked outside of his range of hearing. “Mallory… I thought that name sounded familiar.” There was enough dirt on the workbench for me to take a finger and draw a vertical diamond with a circle in the middle. “And _that_ looked familiar as well.”

            The hammer stopped. Glover gave me a stony look. “You looking for trouble?”

            “No,” I shrugged and wiped the symbol away with a quick motion. “A little respect would be nice. You must have spent a great deal of time away from Riften if you don’t know who I am.” I turned my armor over so the emblem could be seen.

            His eyes widened. “Nightingales? I thought they were just a legend.”

            “I’m also the new Guild Master. Mercer Frey wasn’t exactly… _honest_.”

            “Soooo…” he looked me up and down. “ _You’re_ the one Delvin was talking about?”

            “Brother?” I guessed. He nodded. “What exactly has Delvin been running his mouth about to someone I didn’t know existed?”

            “He just told me you’ve done some pretty incredible things. Unbelievable almost.”

            “I sometimes don’t believe it myself.”

            He held up my armor and declared, “Looks good.” He handed the plate to me. “Since you’ve been known to do things here and there, you think you might be able to help me with a few things?”

            I shrugged back into my plate and grabbed my gloves. “Depends.”

            A short, joyless laugh escaped him. “Don’t worry about a price. I know better than to ask for charity from a member of the guild. I’ve got an old man who won’t give me back a pick axe he stole and a formula for Bonemold armor that got lost with a guy named Esmond Tyne. Old man is just up there,” he pointed to the mines. “But the last I heard from Esmond, he was heading north. I gave him instructions to deliver it to Delvin but he ran off with it.”

            “I’ll ask around, get to them when I can.” I reached for my pouch. “How much for the armor?”

            “I’ll give you a discounted rate. Twenty-five gold?” Glover offered. Well, whatever Delvin had relayed must have impressed his brother with that kind of price.

            I handed him the coins and nodded toward Teldryn who was beginning to stroll back towards us. “Finish up with his quickly. We need to get heading out.” I left Mallory and told Teldryn to be quick. I visited an alchemist who had her table out. I bought a few supplies but ended up crafting more potions than I had intended to. Grinding pestle against mortar was relaxing; I could do it for hours. It wasn’t until Teldryn came upon me that I broke out of my trance.

            “Glover does fine work, but his costs always empty my pockets,” he drawled.

            “Really? He only charged me twenty-five.” I couldn’t help but rub it in his face.

            The silence that my comment elicited was a little amusing. Looking out of the coner of my eye, I could see him cross his arms and examine me, wondering if he should press me further. Instead he asked, “Ready?”

             “Uh…” I looked around at the collection of bottles that surrounded me. “Yeah. Just let me see if I can sell any of these. Made more than I intended to.” A terse nod and he was off visiting the merchant next to us.

            I kept the few potions I knew would be useful or that I was running low on. I motioned to the alchemist and asked, “How much for all of this? Most of this is paltry stuff, ten gold a piece at best. There are a few good pieces here worth about fifty.”

            She stood up and I watched her dark red eyes scan the collection. Picking up a square, brown bottle, she held up two fingers while saying, “One hundred,” and then waited for my response. I nodded, feeling good about the quick arrangement. She handed me a small pouch and I left her with the collection of bottles filled with whatever poultices and salves were settling at the bottom. Teldryn had moved on to speaking with Fethis across the communal area. I waited until Teldryn had finished talking to ask, “So, anything of interest?”

“On Raven Rock?” Both he and Teldryn laughed. “I hear _you_ might have something though,” he finally mentioned when their laughter subsided.

            I began digging through my pouch, trying to remember what the necklace had looked like. Remembring the ship on front, I felt the pendant heavy in my hand. “Any idea what it’s worth?” I handed it to him by the pendant.

            He turned the heavy piece over a few times, running the fingers on one hand over the ship and the other down his chin. He was silent but his eyes told me we had found something. “This is a rare antiquity.”

            “How rare?” Teldryn asked before I could, both of us probably wondering how much gold it might fetch.

            Fethis framed his chin within his thumb and forefinger, _hmming_ thoughtfully. “East Empire used to do quite a bit of business out here on Solstheim; these pendants were given as gifts but now I have collectors who would pay a great deal of coin to own one… I’d say about five hundred.”

            Teldryn whistled low and I nodded, “Deal. I’ll sell you that one and any more I might come across.” I didn’t want to waste my time negotiating a better price.

            “Wonderful,” he replied and reached into a chest near him to divide out the correct amount. He placed a large, heavy pouch into my hand and I said farewell. Teldryn wasn’t far behind as we backtracked toward the town exit. We walked past the abandoned farm and the piles of dead ash spawn we had left in our wake earlier. Climbing upward to the top of the hill, I heard him take out the map and mutter something.

            “What was that?”

            “Nothing, just looking over our course and trying to pick out a good stop to rest. There’s a place marked Brodir Grove which seems like it’s about halfway between here and our destination. I’ve never passed through it but it couldn’t hurt to check it out.”

I shrugged. “If it’s going to take a day or more to get to the temple, I’d rather stop and get some rest and food.”

            He began to walk a little faster with longer strides and looked up at the sky. “Should be a straight shot north for the trip right now.” And that was the last thing either of us said for a very long while. Not too long into our journey, we had passed a Dunmer who was digging at the site of what looked to be a barrow. I quickly shook my head and decided not to comment on it—barrows usually meant a dungeon or a dragon or both. I was in no mood for it. Teldryn didn’t remark on it and I was silently happy he had picked up on my cue.

            Solstheim was no Skyrim; where Skyrim was lush, Solstheim was dull and colorless. Certain that Skaal Nords would not tolerate such an environment, it made me wonder if the northern part of the island differed vastly than the south. Where we were now was sparsely populated by emaciated trees, brittle felled trunks, and low-lying brush and rocks. The ash was less ground than it was a form of dense sand, making it difficult to navigate at times. Teldryn seemed to have no problem finding his footing though. I was taking care not to trip.

            Ignoring the ash hoppers and various plants that held alchemical properties, I was too focused on getting to Miraak’s temple. I didn’t want to keep stopping and picking out thick roots from the ashy ground or break off thick leaves or dissect insects for potions. Not even a month had passed after dealing with Alduin and I had been forced to Morrowind because someone wanted a Dragonborn dead. To Oblivion with cataloging every damned plant or animal on this island.

The trees were becoming denser as we moved northward, making it seem more like a forest. The sun was bright behind a thick haze but slowly descended into the horizon as we pressed forward. The crunch of dry plant life beneath my feet became our marching music, the clink of Teldryn’s armor kept the time. I yawned, a little bored with the lack of conflict we had faced. I found myself wishing that ash hoppers were three times their size and capable of tearing off limbs just so there would be something to break the monotony.

            Teldryn’s outstretched arm broke the spell of tedium, a finger raised to his mouth. “Looks like we found the grove,” he whispered. He shifted left, crouching behind a large rock formation that was stout enough to cover us both while crouched but short enough that we could peak over it to see what was going on.

            Less than ten feet away, there were four or five large rock-formed columns, rounded at the top and jutting from the ground. Around the perimeter created by the rocks was a thick string and dripping from that were more lines that had bones knotted through them. There were four or five men and women sitting around a fire pit, crates of supplies lining the camp. My stomach growled at the thought of food and Teldryn turned his gaze toward me. “Hungry?” he asked.

            I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine. Looks like a bandit camp; shouldn’t be too hard to clear out.”

            He shook his head. “Not bandits. _Reavers_.”

            “Reavers?”

            He shrugged. “I guess they’re not all that different from bandits from Skyrim but…,” he pointed to a man heavily armored and equipped with a large greatsword. “…that is a reaver lord. A bit nastier than a bandit leader.”

            I nodded. “That all?”

            “Well, that and it might be worth taking all of them out. It seems to be a safe place to stop for the night and it’s well-stocked.”

            “My thoughts exactly,” I mulled over a couple of strategies. “We can do this one of two ways. We’re out in the open so cornering them isn’t exactly an option. Taking advantage of the fact they aren’t exactly on alert might prove to be our best bet. But how to surprise them? It’s two on five but you are fond of your atronach so that evens up the odds for a few seconds, giving us an edge. All of them look like they might be heavy hitters so I might bring out something that can hold up against their warhammers and greatswords.”

            “You have anything like that?” Teldryn asked, probably remembering the conjure from earlier today. If I was able to summon a storm atronach then a frost atronach should be no problem, I’m sure he reasoned; the melee attacks would hit hard but also drain their stamina.

            But he had no idea that my conjuration talents were a bit more complicated. I shook my head. “Not exactly, you’ll just have to trust it’s worth it.”

From my pouch, I pulled out two large white phials, the necks clamped between my fingers. Taking care not to clank them together, I handed one to him. “Invisibility potion. Only about half a minute, so make it count.” I pointed to a couple of rocks close to the emcampment on opposite sides. “Drink up and take cover behind the one on the left. Summon whatever you can. While they’re distracted, we both bring some ranged attacks—magic, arrows, whatever—onto the field. With all the confusion, I’m hoping we can whittle down their strength to the point where full-on, close-quarter attacks won’t hurt us as badly.”

            “I like the way you think,” Teldryn grinned and took the phial from my hand. His hand grazed my fingertips and I felt the briefest flutter of shock, the touch causing me to flinch slightly. I took hold of the remaining bottle tightly and shook off the feeling. This was not the time to allow my mind to wander: I needed to focus. I held up one finger, making sure Teldryn could see. “On three.” He nodded and I held up another finger. I peered over the rock one last time to burn into memory the layout of the encampment. I ducked back down and held up the last finger. With that signal, I threw back the potion quickly and saw Teldryn do the same.

            Invisibility potions are a bitter syrup. The viscosity is reminiscent of something sweet but the lingering taste of something burnt and gamey was a quick reminder that it was anything _but._ Every drop I swallowed reminded me of the time I ate a taproot from a sprigon, trying to ascertain what kind of alchemical properties it might have. The taste of the potion made sense after that experience; taproots could be used to make potions that would fortify illusion spells. Being invisible was simply an illusion, a trick of the light. Sprigons often utilized the spell, disappearing while they sent swarms of poisonous insects after hapless adventurers.

            Watching someone become invisible looked similar to seeing sprigon disappear. Teldryn’s body vanished quickly, from limbs to core. The potion allowed his body to warp the light that was hitting him, allowing the forest to be the only thing that could be seen. Of course, since this was only an illusion, something seemed off. The light wasn’t bouncing off evenly and parts of his outline could be seen along the backdrop of dull ash and dark wood.  It wasn’t perfect but it would do the trick. We both quietly rushed to our respective spots, crouching low as we tried to muffle the sounds of our steps. I found that close to the ground, I wasn’t so clumsy on the ashen ground.

            From the direction opposite of me I heard a familiar _whoosh_ and a crackle as a flame atronach came from nothingness and immediately began throwing fireballs at the reavers. I concentrated, my conjuration taking a little more energy than Teldryn’s summon. Both of my hands were consumed in darkness as I felt an unknown force pull them upward, my fingers arched in pain. I felt the apex of the spell, feeling the opportune time to release and I threw the spell toward the two reavers closest to me. Out of the void the figure of an old man swirled and then settled into a familiar shape: Arniel Gane.

            Arniel had been a master conjurer at the College of Winterhold, his fascination with the Dwemers and their disappearance transparent. Helping him was a good cover for the work I did with Enthir but it was fairly innocent—until it wasn’t. When he asked me to bring the Keening blade, things went awry. The courier who was supposed to deliver it was found dead and Arniel had been surprised that holding it didn’t kill _me_. I still remember him using the blade to strike the warped soul gem he had created, grunting in frustration at each unsuccessful pass. That was until there was a flash of light and the world turned in upon itself for the briefest of seconds. I had felt funny, my head swimming and Arniel nowhere to be found.

            Arniel’s shade was never happy to be called upon. Even now I could hear him groaning and complaining. I watched as a reaver tried swinging a warhammer at him, smiling prematurely at her success. Her mouth dropped visibly from disappointment when the heavy weapon simply passed through the shade’s torso. Arniel’s form dissipated for the briefest of moments and then the smoky swirls snapped back into a man-like shape.

Atronachs were nice if you needed something to hit hard for a short amount of time but Arniel could hit hard _and_ take a beating. A flash of light surrounded the shade and lightning jumped from his fingertips. It hit the reaver who had tried to strike him and the woman went down hard, dropping to one knee. He threw more lightning at her, the crackling creating a din that was making it impossible to hear anything else from my vantage point. I pulled off my bow and drew an arrow from the quiver; I took aim and loosed the arrow into the neck of the woman. Her legs went limp as her arms threw her hands around her neck. Arniel moved onto another reaver who had begun attacking him without any success. I quickly loosed another arrow but wasn’t careful about my aim. The string snapped back, catching the side of my mask and the arrow flew crookedly at the reaver. It bounced off his plate and I cursed. I went to grab another arrow and as I drew the string back noticed that I could begin to see my fingers.

            “No point in hiding anymore,” I muttered to myself and loosed the arrow quickly at the reaver again. This time I hit my mark, the arrow burying itself into his upper arm. I heard him cry out and stumble but instead of dropping, his head snapped up. He could now see where I was. I replaced my bow and grabbed my sword, running towards him. In my left hand, I began forming a weak ice spike. The cold made my fingertips burn but I needed to slow these reavers down, especially the reaver lord. He had been hitting at the flame atronach while his comrades fell around him, Teldryn’s fire spells burning them alive. Now that Teldryn was approaching, the lord had set his sights on him. I threw the spike at another reaver coming towards me and the greatsword dropped, his arms no longer able to support the weight. I threw another spike to keep him down and as I came upon him threw my sword into his side.

            Having a curved sword with smaller curvatures within it wasn’t _exactly_ the most functional weapon if the only goal was to stab and slice; but, if used correctly, it was devastating. I lunged forward and twisted the blade by the hilt, feeling the small curves dig into his ribs and then cracking them inward. The snapping sounds were sharp and his breath immediately left him as he collapsed on me. I threw his body off of me as I pulled my sword out quickly.

Everyone was down with the exception of the reaver lord. Teldryn struck when he could, his gilded sword reflecting the soft light of the setting sun as he swung but he was blocking and backing up more than he was actually landing any blows. I rushed to the lord and exhaled as I worked up a stronger spell; the ice now painfully reaching to my bones. I released and the cold immediately dissipated as the ice spike found the back of the reaver’s knees. He didn’t go down easily though. He stopped for a second but then snapped his gaze on me, the origin of the spell.

            I usually wasn’t one for taunting during a fight but this guy was really annoying me. “Sorry,” I mockingly apologized, “Next time I’ll just aim for your _head_.” As he stomped towards me, I could feel the ground beneath my feet lightly quake. He was wearing some strong-looking armor and his sword looked enchanted. I didn’t wait for him to strike. Instead I ducked down, crouching as I swung at his gut. I shot back up and threw my arm again, trying to land my next shot but he easily blocked my attack with his sword. As I stumbled, he backhanded me. _Hard._ My mask absorbed most of the blow but I fell backwards. Despite my ears still ringing and feeling light-headed, I sprung to my feet. I charged at him, shoulder first. I charged into him as he pushed back. I could feel my feet losing traction in the ash but decided to swing anyway. My sword blessedly found a kink between his chest and pauldron, digging into his shoulder. He flung himself back, grunting and yelling. He threw himself into my legs using his sword as a horizontal bar to knock my feet from under me. My anticipation wasn’t quick enough and we both flew backwards with him on top of me.

            His armor was good for taking hits but not for moving fast. As I was kicking against his weight to loosen myself, my movement was hindering him from gaining purchase to stand up. Upside down I could see Teldryn racing towards us. I didn’t blame him for not throwing any spells toward the lord because it could have meant hitting me instead. He had his sword drawn though and by the time I was able to wriggle my legs free, he was swinging it towards the reaver. His sword made contact with the reaver’s helm and knocked his neck backward in an unnatural motion. I took the opportunity to take my sword and drive it through the exposed flesh.

            I was used to blood but the reaver’s neck seemed to gush with more vigor than usual. My boots and lower armor were becoming clotted with the stuff as I kicked him off of me. As I crawled up on my knees the ash mixed with the blood. I didn’t bother trying to brush it off, knowing the gritty mixture would just stick to my arms and hands. I stood up fully and looked at the body. “Thanks,” was all I could get out. Teldryn took a rag out of his pouch and slid the cloth down the length of his sword. I gave the reaver one final kick, the pain in my foot not registering as it hit the face plate. “To Oblivion with you.”

            Teldryn bent down to pilfer through the dead man’s pouch. “Nicely done yourself.” His hand produced a pile of coins. “Want some?”

            I waved my hand at him heading towards the crates and pushing open one of lids. “Keep whatever you find. Looks like some foodstuffs and paltry tin cups here.” I snatched an apple and surveyed our work, satisfied that we had probably cleared out the grove. The circle of mysterious rock formations made a nice barrier for the encampment. A grindstone was located at the far side of the camp; a lean-to shelter covered a bedroll that looked clean enough. I removed my mask and pushed back my hood. I threw back my head shaking out my hair and inhaled deeply. “Out here, the ash isn’t as bad and the air feels a bit cleaner.” I took a large bite out of the apple. I walked around the camp, chewing thoughtfully. It was a bit overripe but my stomach was grateful for the fruit.

            Teldryn walked over to me with the reaver’s sword in hand. “It looks like this sword is enchanted with some sort of spell. Might be worth something.”

            I took another bite of the apple and examined it. “Feels like a shock spell. Not worth _enough_ for me to waste my time on it.”

            He put the sword on a nearby crate before giving me a good-natured nudge. “Look at you. Was beginning to wonder if that mask _was_ your face.”

            “Well, I’d like to eat,” I swallowed and took another bite. “Can’t always do that by pushing it aside. Unlike you.” I took my elbow and nudged him in return. The recent success had put me in a good mood. “Let’s see if reavers are better at cooking than they are at fighting.”

            Teldryn laughed. “Well, you do have some priorities straight.”        

            I took the lid off the pot over the fire. There was a wooden spoon sitting in the liquid so I stirred the broth and inhaled deeply. “Good news is it’s fresh. Bad news? Apple cabbage stew.” I replaced the lid and sat at the log bench that was next to the pit. I put my mask next to me and began to unhook my cape from my shoulder plates. I flung it around me and folded it loosely into a square that I sat next to my mask. Teldryn sat on my other side.

            “Not fond of cabbage?” he raised his hands to his kerchief and pulled it downward so that it now circled his neck. He pulled off his helm and put it aside. Teldryn wasn’t bad-looking. He had the characteristic Dunmer-grey skin, high cheekbones and ears that formed into exaggerated points at the top. His jaw was heavily squared but narrow; a five o’clock shadow darkened it following down to thicker facial hair that I guessed was purposeful. It framed his mouth around the sides and above his lip and trailed down to his chin. A red tattoo led up vertically from the beard on his chin onto his bottom lip; diagonal tattoos in an identical color led up from the bottom of his cheeks to the corners of his eyes. They rounded above his eyes and looped to the midline of his brow, creating a curved hook that pointed toward his ears. He took a hand and ran it back through his mohawk, fluffing out the hair. He regarded me, his red eyes searching my face.

            “I know, I know. It’s a crime to cover up this face all the time.” Whatever I imagined his grinning to be understated the actual thing.

            I raised an eyebrow at him, grabbing a bowl near my feet. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

            “But look at you: more than a _bit_ touched with Mer blood. I bet your family was from an old line of magic users.”

            I ignored the topic of my family and leaned over the pot to ladle in a couple of servings of the stew. “Want some?” I motioned to the bowl I was offering him.

            Teldryn took it but kept pressing, “Why didn’t you pursue being a mage? It looks like you’re a fair bit more skilled with magic than a blade.” I shot him a look and he threw a hand up defensively, “Not that you’re _unskilled_ at a blade.”

            My good mood was quickly deflating. “None of your gods damned business.” I scooped out a thick chunk of apple from the liquid. Good but a bit over-salted.

            “Touchy subject. Duly noted.” He brought the bowl up to his mouth and sipped at the stew, a spoon at his side.

            I noisily crunched on some cabbage that was still a bit raw. “We’ll need to sleep in shifts.”

            He ignored me. Whatever I imagined him to look like when cocking a brow upward underneath the chitin helm, it was nothing compared to the action unmasked. It was comically more dramatic coupled with the naturally furrowed brow that all Dunmer seemed to have to a degree. “You going to snap at me if I asked about your sword?”

            I groaned. “What about it?”

            “Just curious,” he shrugged. “Don’t see many Men running around with Daedric weapons, is all.”

            “I like collecting swords.” It was truth enough. Teldryn just had a knack for asking questions I didn’t want to answer: my family, my magic, the Daedra. I supposed I wouldn’t be shocked if he started asking me about dragons next.

            “You keep the entire collection in your pouch?” he joked.

            I nodded. “And here and there.” I put my bowl down by my feet.

            “Here and there,” he repeated. He brought the bowl up for one final slurp and made a satisfied sound. “Weeeeell, I could help you with that.”

            “With my collection?” I asked, puzzled.

            He laughed a little at the misunderstanding, “No, your skill with swords. I’ve been training for years and years. You might say it’s a family hobby.”

            “I’ll admit that my serious training has only been with the last couple of years,” I conceded.

            “I could tell. You’re reckless.”

            I drew up my hands lazily in mock surprise. “Ooooh, how could you tell?” Surprisingly, I found myself smiling.

            He stood up and motioned for me to do the same. He smiled widely. “C’mon, now. I’ll go easy on you.”

            I rolled my eyes and obliged. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt; he wielded his sword with ease. Might be nice to see what tricks I could pick up. “I’d like to _rest_ for a little bit but if you’re _that_ desperate to have your arse handed to you, sure.” I drew my sword and backed away to an open area. I widened my arms, inviting him to attack. “Well?”

            He put his hands on his hips and laughed. I hadn’t noticed it before but the timbre of his laugh was just an octave lower than it was when muffled behind his mask. “Just how cocky are you?”

            “Being cocky and being self-assured aren’t the same things. I may not be elegant but I get the job done.” I swung my sword lazily in circles with my wrist.

            Without warning he lunged forward at me, sword in hand and ready to strike. I braced myself to block the impact as I watched his feet and realized at the last second he was planning on turning; the toe of his left boot leaned forward and began to swivel on the weight he was pivoting off of. As he turned, my anticipation paid off. I turned on my right heel and Teldryn missed me, overstepping his mark; I took advantage of the surprise and swung backwards with the hilt of my sword, hitting him squarely on the back. He stumbled slightly before landing on his hands and knees, dust pluming around him. I was concerned until I heard him laughing loudly.

            “What?” I asked, genuinely offended.

            He worked himself back upright and suggested, “You’re good at analyzing the situation but your reaction leaves you open. That cheap shot? Not enough power to knock me down. I could have easily swung my sword and cut into your arm, or even cut your hand off. I liked the side-step though, very nice.”

            “Well, _thank you_ ,” I opened a hand towards him, “Is that all?”

            “Just this.” I didn’t even register the speed at which he lunged forward and down, taking the flat edge of his sword to unbalance me at my ankles. I fell flat on my back.  

            “Ooof!” was all that came out as I felt my elbows make contact with the ground and the ash flew up all around me. Quickly I threw an arm over my face trying to shield it from the dust. After it settled, I propped myself up on my elbows and coughed out, “For _that_ you get first watch and I get to sleep.”

            Teldryn shrugged and sheathed his sword. “I was going to offer to do so anyway. Just glad I didn’t have to fight you to see it my way.” He offered a hand and I took it, feeling him pull me up easily. “Well, maybe we had to fight a little.” And there was that flash of a grin again, this time flourished with a wink. _Gods_ , this man. Did he ever stop?

            I looked down at my legs, still frustrated at the blood clotted inside the small plates of the armor. I pointed at a chest close to us—if he wanted to take first watch, I’d keep him busy. “Underneath the ash there’s a bear trap that needs triggering. Something in there must be worth hiding if it’s protected.” I motioned toward a small lockbox next to the chest. “And that definitely looks valuable. Other than that, just keep alert.”

            He nodded. “I’ll work on disarming the trap and unlocking anything around here. I’ll keep the fire going and if I may?” he took a hand and placed it at the small of my back, gently leading me towards the lean-to with the bedroll. I swallowed my surprise and tried to avoid eye contact as he continued. “You’re going to be absolutely useless without any sleep. So make an effort to _rest_.”

            “You’re probably right,” I yielded. Ripping off my gloves, I brushed off his hand. “Don’t wake me up unless it’s important.” As I slid into the bedroll I could see him smiling. “I’m going to ignore that,” I warned.

            “Suuuure,” Teldryn drolled as he sat back down on the log. “Sleep well.”

            I turned onto my side. As soon as I shut my eyes, my body succumbed to sleep.


	5. The Well-Lit Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in the groove for editing so another chapter is done! And, even better, RoS has gotten over 100 views! Thanks so much for reading, it means so much to me. This story has caused me so much anxiety that it's so inspiring to see people enjoying it without giving me a hard time. So, about editing this chapter. Taking the time to go back and make sure RoS reflects my growth as a writer (as well as making sure it reflects the canon in future chapters in stories) is already proving to be WELL worth my time. Over the years, I'd received numerous comments about Rook's characterization and it occurred to me that I hadn't done a great job at hinting at her ongoing issues with PTSD. In addition, I'd been really bad at not only characterizing Teldryn as a bit flat (e.g. just rolling over whenever something happens that he doesn't like) but also in keep his characterizations consistent (e.g. in later chapters he's more vocal about his displeasure and his dismissal of the things he considers Rook to say strange but in an earlier version of this one, he's like, "Whatever. Okay. Bye."). 
> 
> So, that is that! Thanks for reading! Kudos are appreciated and comments are joyously welcomed! See you guys in chapter 6! -Ash

My dreams haunted me in various ways. Sometimes they’d thrust me back to the war. Every now and then I’d find myself back in the flames of Helgen. Sometimes sleep reminded me of the Brotherhood or the Guild or the College.

I dreamt of the Throat of the World often.

            My feet dug into the heavy snow and the wind howled around me whipping my cape and hood. It wasn’t snowing but at the top of the snow-capped mountain the wind picked up enough of it so it blew around violently. I looked upwards and saw Paarthurnax resting on the half-destroyed, frost-covered Dragon Wall. I often dreamt of him as well, despite knowing he had left long ago.

            “ _Drem Yol Lok_. Speak and I will listen, _Dovahkiin_ ,” his words flowed slowly and deliberately. His voice reflected control.

            I threw back my hood and took off my mask. “I am not a true Nord and I am not a true _dov_. I am not good and, most of all, I am not sorry.” This all sounded familiar; they were the first words I had for the dragon although this was not how our first meeting went.

            The tip of his tail lazily brushed away some snow on the dark wall. “You are as your Father Akatosh made you.”

            “I need you to teach me the Dragonrend shout. It’s a matter of grave importance,” I stared into his eye as he lowered his neck down towards my level, his head more than three times my height. I saw myself reflected in the glassy sheen, a high-cheeked, pale young woman with dark hair blowing wildly in the wind. Tired and weary didn’t touch how she looked.

            “ _Drem_. Patience. There are formalities that must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the _dov_. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my _Thu'um_! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are _Dovahkiin_!” He turned his head upwards toward the sky and his voice rang through the mountain, “ _YOL… TOOR SHUL!_ ” I felt my bones burning as a fire rang through the sky from him. The heat melted the snow around him as he stepped down, fire still falling in small embers.

            The _Thu’um_ resonated through my skin and into my very being as I felt it build toward its inevitable end. I could feel the words crawl up from my throat and bubble onto my tongue where they held onto the tip; involuntarily my body braced as I drew back my fists and shouted at the wall, “ _YOL… TOOR SHUL_!” The fire whirled around me and exploded onto the ruined stone, the words etched there in angles and wedges glowing bright and white. I felt the fire inside of me burn from my fingertips to my belly as the last of the flames quenched themselves out in the cold, bitter air.

            I was sweating and breathing heavily as I collapsed onto my knees. Paarthurnax moved beside me. “ _Dovah Sos._ The dragonblood is what you have and what you are. The _Dovahkiin_ , one of us and the one who hunts us.”

            I shook my head, grasping angrily at the snow. “ _Dov Ah Kiin_ ,” was all I could manage out.

            “ _Dovah Kiin_ as well, child,” he corrected. I saw streams of thin white and gold lines come from his body and surrounded me in a cocoon of light. The light faded into my skin and I could feel the strings of a _Thu’um_ being plucked note by note as each stream faded into me. “What is better—to be born good or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?” his voice echoed in the wild wind.

            I turned to find him and saw only a large dragon’s skeleton beside me, the last of the thin lines traveling weakly from him to me. I couldn’t breathe and I was shaking. I heard the last whispers of his voice wrap around me, “We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?” Each word a little fainter than the last. His bones began to crumble and turn into dust, his creaking rib cage collapsing and the crash of heavier bones causing the ground to quake beneath my feet. The last remnants of his bones turned to powder and blew with the wind mixing in with the snow. The faintest of the words came to me, “Even the first Dragonborn lost the fight with his _Dovah Sos…_ ” the hiss of the last letter resonating in my mind.

            With quiet, cautious steps I walked into the remains of Paarthurnax. I couldn’t look upward, my gaze stuck to the ground. My fingertips dug so deeply into my palms that they hurt, my armor pushing hard into my gloves. I released and felt blood rush back into my fingers. Watching my breath hang heavy in the air I thought I could hear another whisper underneath the linger hiss of the dragon’s last words.

            “ _And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world will cease to be."_

* * *

 

            I woke with a heavy start, sweat covering my brow. I kicked the bedroll off of me. I sat up and rested my head on my knees, momentarily forgetting about the blood and ash knitted in my armor. I raked back my hair, catching in loose knots. My heart stopped when my hand didn’t find my pouch at my side. A split second passed before I realized it was night and that this was Morrowind, not the Throat of the World. Both Secunda and Masser hung full and bright, swaths of glittering starlight around them. Glancing over, I spied my things right where I’d left them.

            The fire burned brightly in the dark, illuminating Teldryn who was vigrouously cleaning his helm with a small brush. Rolling over, I got to my feet and brushed off my legs. He gave me a brief greeting as I slumped down next to him. Ignoring him, I stared into the flames and watched the heat dance from white to blue to red to orange into the cool black of the night. Briefly hypnotized I whispered, “What will you burn?” Teldryn stopped what he was doing and studied my face. “What will you spare?” I finished.

            He didn’t respond right away, not that I was expecting him to. “My, what heavy words. Are you feeling alright?”

            I shook my head. “Not my words.”

            “Then whose?”

            Gods, I felt funny. More than that: _off._ When I found Miraak, his death was going to be slow and painful. My time with the Brotherhood wasn’t without its benefits. I laughed dryly, “A dragon’s.”

            Teldryn stared at me like I was Sheogorath himself. “That must have been some dream you were having. It’s barely been four hours but I was afraid to wake you.”

            I ignored the concern in his voice and snapped, “Hand me my pouch.” He reached beside him and then placed it in my hand. “Thanks.” I reached for a few ivory hairpins, the fire shining brilliantly off the bone. I put a few into my mouth while I pulled my hair to one side and shoved a pin into it, the bone scratching my scalp. I took another pin and pushed back the other side, pulling the pin through. There was no good way to tame my hair so once I was satisfied I’d done my best, I quit.

            Before I could replace the last pin back into my bag Teldryn held out his hand. “Here,” he commanded. Confused I placed the pin in his hand; he immediately took his opposite hand and brushed back his mohawk to pull a pin through it. He turned to me and smiled brightly. “I think I did a better job at it.” The pin succeeded in holding back the only roots of his hair, so the ends were sticking up comically.

            I frowned. “Give that back,” I went to snatch it out of his hair when he caught my wrist in mid-swipe.

            “So you’re just reckless in general, not just with a blade.”

            I yanked it out of his grasp. “You’re mouthy and opinionated for a spellsword.”

            “You haven’t killed me yet so I suppose you aren’t _that_ bothered by my mouth.” A corner of his mouth quirked upward, almost challenging me.       

            I eyed him carefully. “Mind your words. I don’t need you getting any ideas that you’re irreplaceable.”

            He showed no signs of remorse, shrugging. “Then dismiss me.”

            Most definitely a challenge. “Did your last patron do the same? Finally got fed up with you trying to tell him how he fought incorrectly and stealing his hairpins?”

            He smiled at that, a little sadness hidden behind the motion. “My last patron was a true Nord. He dressed in animal skins, had tattoos on his face… a real traditional type, if you know what I mean. Had no need for _hairpins_.”

            I made a circular motion with one hand while the elbow of the other rested on my leg, allowing my chin to rest in my palm. “And?”

            “Oh? You’d like to know more? That’s new.”

            I sneered at him a little, “Out with it already or I’m taking over watch.”

            He rolled his eyes. “He had an insatiable bloodlust and was extremely stubborn. One of the toughest employers I’ve ever had.”

            “Why did you work for him then?”

            “You think I’d back down from something just because it’s difficult?” He raised his brow in question but added. “Simple. He paid well… _very_ well. Anyway, we’d just cleared out a fort somewhere outside of Whiterun and when we got outside, we saw one of them galloping away on horseback. Well, my boss wasn’t about to let him get away, so we pursued… on foot, for three days.”

            “Until?” I pressed.

            “Until we ended up tracking him to one of the largest bandit encampments I’d ever seen. My patron took one look at me and made the most menacing grin I’d ever seen. At that moment I knew I’d never see him again. No amount of money would ever be worth that kind of death.” Teldryn gazed into the fire. “I didn’t even bother following. It would have been suicide.”

            I nodded slowly, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve run away from my fair share of battles and challenges in exchange for my life.”

            “Man, Mer or Beast would be stupid not to run away once in a while,” he commented. I couldn’t tell if it was meant to make conversation or if he was trying to give me comfort. “Money’s good, but not dying is _much_ better.”

            I rubbed the hairpin in my hand thoughtfully but, not paying attention, I stabbed myself and a drop of blood began swelling to the surface. “ _Dovah Sos_ ,” I mumbled as I rubbed it away with the pad of my thumb. A crimson smear now flashed angrily across the pad of flesh.

            “Dovuhsas?” Teldryn tried to repeat.

            I shook my head. “It’s nothing.” I thrust the hairpin into my hair, not caring where it landed in the messy bundle. “How long were you in Skyrim?”

            “Oh, a good number of years I suppose. It’s been a while since I’ve been back.”

            I looked up into the sky. “I can’t sleep soundly with the moons like this. Enlightens the path to the Shivering Isles and it’s hard to see the despair of Dementia when the beauty of Mania is so brightly lit. Get some sleep and I’ll keep the next watch. I won’t be going back to sleep any time soon.”

            “You don’t strike me as the religious sort.”   

            “I’m not. Sheogaroth said that to me once in a moment of madness. I doubt it has any real meaning,” I replied flatly, still gazing upward.     

            Teldryn regarded me carefully. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? Next thing I know you’re going to tell me that you’re a werewolf.”

            “Oh, I was once but that problem’s been long resolved,” I answered absent-mindedly and his eyes widened, concern washed over his face. “Horrible experience. Hiricine and hunting and all that. Wasn’t really my flagon of ale.”

            He got up but, before he left, laid a hand sympathetically on my shoulder. “Awaken me if you start feeling worse. You’re not sounding well.” And with that he fixed the bedroll and threw it over himself, comfortable with sleeping on the bare ground. I couldn’t imagine the chitin was comfortable but it didn’t seem to bother him.

            I took my timepiece out of my pouch. Not even close to midnight. I rubbed my eyes warily. Had it only been three days since I arrived on Solstheim? I could hear ash hoppers off in the distance chirping and shuffling about. I could have sworn that I saw something move but it could have just as well been a trick of the light. Trying to burn off nervous energy, I paced around the camp and checked the chest and strongbox Teldryn said he would work on. True to his word he had disarmed the bear trap and unlocked the box. There was nothing in the chest worth taking but the lockbox contained gems and an East Empire pendant much in the same way we had found the one at Fort Frostmoth.

            I put the pendant and gems in my pouch. Continuing to pace, I swung my arms back and forth. I took off my belt and laid it with my bow and quiver on the log bench. This thing with Miraak was getting to me in ways that I couldn’t pin down. He had followers, a way to control some people, and—most disturbingly—a connection to dragons. My best guess was that he had been a dragon priest but I’d killed my fair share of those; none were even _close_ to the type of power Miraak wielded. He had the ability to find me in my dreams, his chant stalking me in my waking and unwaking moments.

            My armor felt oppressive and I couldn’t bear to have it weighing down my on me any longer. I unclasped my plates, shrugged off my boots. The air kissed my skin and I was grateful for the decision—a cool night with a gentle breeze greeted me. I slipped my chest plate over my head and exhaled with relief. Not a fan of heavy armor, I had a great deal of light armor in my various houses collecting only choice pieces of heavy armor for my collection. I never wore any of it but it was always a good feeling to have guests _ooh_ and _ahh_ over the breastplates salvaged from Nordic dungeons and gauntlets stolen from the most dangerous of men.

            I retrieved my sword and braced one bare foot behind me with the other in front. I lunged forward and threw my sword out. As I did so I pivoted on the balls of my front foot and turned quickly, making a stabbing motion toward the ground as I did so. I snapped a quick candlelight spell into existence to examine the blade for any cracks or imperfections. Perhaps cracking the reaver’s rib had chipped off a part of one smaller curvature. Not seeing any immediate signs of damage, I quickly grasped the light in my hand and snuffed it out.

            For the next few hours I spent my time practicing techniques that I had either learned or bastardized from masters who trained me in Skyrim. When I wasn’t practicing, I sat next to the fire and stared into the blaze. What would I burn and what I would spare? Troubling questions that endlessly plagued me. Years ago when I had first met Paarthurnax I was just a child, a _Kiin_. My blood and my soul knew I was still a child, would be one for a very long time. Paarthurnax’s words were the only ones that stayed etched into the bones of my body. Being so very old, the dragon was wiser than I gave him credit for. Underneath the dark of a starry sky and the rich greens of an aurora, he carefully considered me, seeing how I had struggled all my life with finding my purpose. Paarthurnax would often advise me, “Stay with me, meditate upon the words and speak with me. The Greybeards would be obliged to keep you as a guest under my protection…” knowing that I would refuse. He knew my struggles were deeper than a young woman’s need for purpose but rather a struggle within, a mortal’s body afflicted with Akatosh’s gift.

            “ _Gift,_ ” I snorted.

I’d told him, “I would burn what needed to be burned. I would spare whatever needed to be spared.”

            He repeated familiar words, “But as you push the world, so does the world push back. You will push the world harder than it pushes back. _Su'um ahrk morah._ ”

            I would stare up into a sky much like the one I was now under and drill him with burning questions. “What is my purpose? To be the last Dragonborn and then to die, slowly fading into Oblivion? If I were to kill Alduin, then what will my role in this world be?”

            He regarded these slowly, “We as _Dov_ were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?”

            I nodded slowly, not knowing what to expect.

“No day goes by where I am not tempted to return to my inborn nature.” All he could tell me was that overcoming the evil by force by great effort was a greater good.

I sometimes made the climb back to the summit of the Throat of the World, hoping to see him but I had yet to see him sitting on the Dragon Wall in the snow. The Blades still weren’t talking to me, enflamed that I had let the dragon live. I could only hope that Paarthurnax was safe wherever in Nirn he traveled to.

            The sun quietly rose in the horizon; dusk had snuck past me while I was contemplating why I was even on this ash-covered rock. Stretching my legs out, I balanced myself with my arms against the bench. The fire was dwindling so I got up and went to a pile of firewood that was neatly stacked behind me. Teldryn had stayed quite busy in the short time I’d been able to sleep. I bent down and lifted three thick logs onto my shoulder. I grunted as I pulled myself up and trudged over to the dying flame. As I threw the logs on, the fire consumed my offering hungrily. “You will burn on and you will spare nothing,” I observed.

            I grabbed a bowl and stirred the soup. Despite the dwindling fire, it was still hot. I ladled the thick stew into the bowl and began to eat, famished. The horizon was drenched in a hazy fog. I slurped the last of my soup and went over to Teldryn who was sleeping soundly. I crouched down and shook his shoulder gently. “Hey.” When the only response I received was a deep breath, I shook him harder. “ _Up_.”

            He rolled over and slid a hand down his jaw, rubbing it. “I’m awake,” he growled and sat up. He ran a hand through his hair but it refused to cooperate. “Oblivion take it, time for some food.” I watched him carefully while he ate, waiting to get a word in edgewise.

Once I was certain he was awake I observed, “Today the Temple of Miraak will be in reach. I don’t know what’ll be there.”

            Teldryn shrugged as he shoveled another apple into his mouth. “So?” he asked with a full mouth.

            “I can pay you your rate. I can pay above your rate. _Well_ above it actually. But I’d rather you stay here and alive.”

            “What? You think there’s going to be _scores_ of reavers waiting for us?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, obviously not happy with my sudden order.

            “Worse. Dragons are involved.”

            He answered that with a raised eyebrow. “Dragons?” And then incredulity. “You must be seriously affected.”

            “The map? It had dragon language on it. Miraak? Probably connected to them as well.”

            “ _Dragons_?” he snorted. “Maybe on Skyrim you’ve got those ridiculous tales of beasts and some fool Nord running around killing them but this is _Morrowind._ ” I was getting the distinct feeling he wasn’t taking me seriously. He threw up his hands. “ _Fine_ , I’ll stay here. What would you have me do, _patron_?”

            I bit the inside of my cheek and dug my fingernails into my hands. This is the thanks I got for trying to keep people alive. “ _Oblivion_ if I care. What does it matter to you get paid to sit on your arse?”

            He studied me carefully before giving up. “I can stay here, keep the camp clear. I suppose I don’t mind waiting for a little bit. Here,” he pulled out the map and pointed to the temple. “If you need this no worries—“

            “I won’t need it seeing that it’s only an hour or so from here, due northeast. Nothing terribly difficult.”

            He nodded. “Shouldn’t take that long and the ash ends here, gives ‘way to snow and mountains.”

            I grabbed my armor and began to clasp the joints, taking care to not kink the free flowing edges that hit the tops of my thighs. I was able to brush off some of the dried blood and ash off the rest of my armor and I tightened the straps on my boots. Snatching my hood and mask, I adjusted the edges made sure my face was completely covered. “Do me a favor and finish fleshing that map out.” I clasped my cape back onto my shoulders. I walked over to the bedroll where I had left my gloves and pulled my hands through.

            As I finished equipping myself, I asked, “Anything else you need from me before I leave?”

            Already engrossed in the map, he grumbled, “Come back alive. I like getting paid.”

            I waved flippantly and left. What a pain in my arse.

Climbing upwards, I used rocks jutting out to gain purchase on the ground. I glanced back and found the camp only visible by the flame given off by the campfire. Trusting Teldryn with my things didn’t register as a mild concern. Trusting him to stay alive? I never had good track records with followers; they were always mucking things up trying to be heroes following the Dragonborn. I remember the first poor woman who has too full of bravado: Lydia. A Nord warrior in service of the Jarl of Whiterun, she was assigned to be my housecarl after killing my first dragon. “I'll guard you, and all you own, with my life,” she told me when we first met. That was all nice and well until we met upon some giants and their domesticated mammoths. Lydia was stubborn, like most Nords, and couldn’t appreciate the value of strategy. Being young, I tried to stop her as she stupidly ran full force at a mammoth. I was able to stop one giant before watching her become impaled on a mammoth’s tusk, her body going limp as it ran through her. Terrified, I didn’t have the strength to take on two more giants and a mammoth by myself. So I ran. Some things weren’t worth dying for.

            I hadn’t been paying attention so when my foot crunched ice I was surprised. It was beginning to look a bit like Skyrim now, the snow becoming thicker and the hills becoming more jagged. I had to navigate around burgeoning mountains until I found what looked like a trail packed down with snow. Traversing further onto the path, the mountains flowered around me and I had to take care to watch my step. This was more familiar and preferable to traversing the ash but it still had its perils. Reaching the summit of the Throat of the World held much of the same danger; the path spiraling around the edge of the mountain held a real threat of being swallowed by the throat, tumbling to one’s death.

            The trail gave way to aged stone steps to my right so I decided to climb those instead of staying on the current path. It didn’t take long for bones to start lining the decrepit staircase. At first there were just pieces but then they began to form full skeletons: dragon skeletons. My stomach turned. The few skeletons with complete forms were long dead, lying on their bellies. I climbed up another set of stairs which opened up to a large, domed structure rising up high and wide from the ground. The sounds of faint construction came from the inside. A small, snow-covered shack was to my left but I ignored it. There were three more sets of stairs that led up to the actual structure. I climbed carefully, the long aqueducts reaching from the base of the temple ground icy and narrow.

            At the top, I was able to get a better look at the temple. It was an immense, round area topped with pointed arcs interspersed with stone spikes in between; there was scaffolding in places that made me think that the spikes were supposed to be in between all of the arcs. It reminded me of a crown. With each step, my feet creaked on the shaky stairs leading into the dome and I realized that the top was actually a smaller enclosed dome inside an open arena, steps circling around the fine-webbed dome that had a number of entranced people working inside. The stone was dark and reminded me of fingers outstretched over nothingness. Descending the steep steps toward the center of the dome, I heard a young woman pleading, “Oslaf, please!” I moved in slowly and silently. Armored with an axe drawn, she looked like a Nord but her accent wasn’t anything familiar.

            “You _must_ listen to me!” she turned to a woman, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a terse shake. “Ysra! Can you hear me? You must leave this place!” Her head snapped toward me, defensive. “You there! What brings you to this place? Why are you here?” Her gaze was unwavering, sizing me up.

            I wasn’t thrilled with the interrogation. “Who are _you_?”

            “I am Frea of the Skaal. I am here to either save my people,” she brandished her axe into the air dramatically. “Or avenge them,” she finished.

            I couldn’t help put plant my hand heavy and hard into the square center of my mask. I groaned. Just what I needed: the hero type. “Save them from _what_?” I didn’t care but I was beginning to think our goals were similar if she was hanging around here.

            She lost a bit of her vigor, “I am… unsure. Something has taken control of most of the people of Solstheim.”

            “I’d noticed,” I replied dryly.

            She ignored my comment. “It makes them forget themselves and forces them to work on these _horrible_ creations,” she waved a hand to the stone at the center of the dome. “They corrupt the Stones, the very land _itself_.”

            Oh, sweet Dibella’s tits. A hero _and_ a spiritualist.

            Fantastic.

            “My father, Storn, he is a shaman. He says Miraak has returned to Solstheim but that is impossible.”

            Now _that_ was helpful. “I’m familiar with him. He’s trying to have me killed.”

            “Then you and I both have reason to see what lies beneath us,” she took her axe and pointed downward.  “Let us go now. I cannot help my friends or the Tree Stone at this moment. There is nothing more I can do,” she shook her head sadly. “But we need to find a way below.”

            I pointed to my left, “Where does that ramp lead?”

            She shook her head, “I do not know. I have been here, trying to help my friends.”

            I started walking and motioned for her to follow me. “C’mon then. And while you’re at it, tell me what you know about Miraak.”

            Her heavy-armor clinked from behind me, “His story is as old as Solstheim itself. He served the dragons before their fall from power, as most did. A priest in their order.” She confirmed what I had suspected. “But unlike most, he turned _against_ them. He made his own path but his actions cost him dearly. The stories say he sought to claim Solstheim for himself but the dragons destroyed it for him—” before she could finish a fireball whizzed by me. She spun around but I was already running toward the nearest man, wearing the same cult clothing as those who’d attacked me in Whiterun.

            “The false Dragonborn shall die!” he lunged at me, dagger in hand. I took my free hand and grabbed his wrist, wrenching it to one side. I stepped sideways and drove my sword into his side. I quickly released him and dropped down just in time to avoid another fireball to the head. We were at a slight disadvantage because we were below on the ramp but Frea’s axe wasn’t just for show. Her armor took the spell easily and she brought her axe down on the second and final cultist. Underneath her soft nature was someone who didn’t mind the blood pooling around her boots.

            I threw a healing spell over myself. Before she could ask me the question I could see clearly written on her face I explained, “The people trying to kill me.” I almost thought about searching the cultists but I had a feeling Frea would argue with me, chiding me for desecrating the corpses. We continued down the winding path, the ramp descending lower and lower. The walls of the ramp were far above us now, a roof now over our heads. At the end of the ramp, there was a plain-looking black door, carved with hatch marks.

            “Are you well-prepared—?” I could hear the address _Dragonborn_ in the silence but I gave her a name instead.  

            “—Rook. And don’t worry about me.”

            She seemed concerned. “There are so few people left unaffected.” Gingerly, she brought a hand to an amulet dangling close to her neck. “I fashioned an amulet to guard me against whatever has taken a hold of the Skaal but… it is the only one of its kind.”

            I waved her off. “Don’t worry yourself. I’m not affected by whatever’s going on around here.”

            “Well, then. Shall we?” her voice couldn’t hide the suspicion in her words.

            I pushed open the door and warned, “I’m not interested in playing Skaal savior. I’m here on business and I’ll do what I can here to do.”

            She nodded, still looking unsure, but didn’t ask what my purpose was. I passed through the door first, the dank smell of stale air hitting my nostrils. Frea followed and closed the door behind us. The creak of rock against rock echoed through the small corridor. A few torches flickered ahead but they were little more than useless in the bleak darkness. I inhaled. Whatever answers lie buried, they were going to be deep.  

 


	6. Digging a Deeper Pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, do you know what the absolute BEST part about combing over these chapters after not looking at them for two years has made me realize? Noticing that, at some point, my fingers got into the habit of spelling "draugr" as "druagr." That's right. For over 250k words, I kept misspelling something I never caught (or for that matter, neither did anyone else so maybe it just amuses me). I think what's worse is this is the second large-scale edit RoS has gone through (although the AO3 edits will be the FINAL, LAST ones). Ah, well, such is life. 
> 
> So, about this chapter. I love Frea and how complex of a character she could be based on in-game, canon dialogue. She's a reoccurring character in RoS (although I'd classify her as a major secondary character like Neloth) and meant to be a foil to Rook. The parallels between the two start off fairly easy here but as the story progresses, I wrote both of them such that it would highlight Frea's growth and Rook's eventual... well, that's a bit of a spoiler. I might make author notes on that in later chapters. Which reminds me, I'll start posting author notes at the end of chapters to start commenting on the events. I've not done so for the few starting chapters (because it is a lot of set-up) but next chapter marks the end of that and we'll be moving forward with the story.
> 
> So, special thanks to everyone who left kudos! A bunch of guests were nice enough to leave some as well as lymonster and Asyanica. I feel like I'm forgetting someone and I'm very sorry if I have (shoot me a message if I have!). And a big super-duper thanks to ElBandito for letting me know how much you enjoyed the chapter (and, yes, binge-read is totally a word. I greatly approve). And a word of thanks for all of you who continue to read and bookmark! Enjoy!

Groaning in frustration, I threw my body flat against a stone pillar. “If I die I’m blaming you, just so we’re clear!” I shouted to the Skaal warrior.

Frea frowned at the accusation. She wasn’t faring much better on the other side of the small room hiding against a pillar as well. “Can we save this discussion until _after_ we have finished?”

 _I’m sure you can find a way across, Dragonborn_ , were her exact words before we ended up with two draugr deathlords clamoring to take off our heads. One of them must have heard us because the next thing that happened was a full-on offensive.

            “ _FUS… RO DAH_!” shouted one of the draugr. Loose items, debris, and chunks of stone flew wildly at us. I dug my heels into the uneven stone, bracing myself for another wave of force to hit me.

            “It looks as if we have no choice now,” Frea pointed out before turning around and swinging at the nearby draugr. I rolled my eyes at the bravado she was giving it.

            “That’s not going to help!” I shouted to her, turning to the opposite side and facing the two of them locked in a block of sword and shield. I raised a red-hot hand toward the draugr and warned her, “DUCK!” Then I hurled the fire bolt.

            In the nick of time she unlocked her shield from the draugr’s sword and fell backwards. The fire bolt hit the draugr square in the chest and exploded. The deathlord ran screaming in the wake of the flame that consumed the bones held together by gamey tendons and stringy sinew. As it went to retreat, Frea caught it with her axe and it fell unceremoniously into a pile of dusty bones, dead and gone. We didn’t have much time to celebrate because the other one was coming fast upon us, already shooting arrows in our direction.

            I threw a weak healing spell over Frea and then myself before loosing another firebolt. My aim wasn’t so good this time; running on uneven flooring wasn’t helping my case. Luckily, it was also proving a disadvantage to the uncoordinated draugr as well—having a still-living body did have _some_ perks. Before it could throw a shout at us, I was able to hit it with an ice spike. It fell weakly as Frea finished it off.

            “Well,” I exhaled heavily. “I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”

            Frea frowned. “Are you so cowardly? All of Solstheim, my people and the others, are depending on us.”

            I rolled my eyes, “Yes, yes. All worth risking my hide over.”

            Frea must have found the discussion either distasteful or fruitless because she quickly changed topic. “Look there. The stairs are destroyed. We are going to have to find another way up… like on that balcony.” She pointed high above our heads.

            I followed the direction of her finger and mumbled in displeasure. “And there’s no way you’re climbing in all that armor.”

            She shrugged. “You said it, not me.” I was beginning to think that she was picking up on my lack of enthusiasm for saving Solstheim and the Skaal.

            I sighed and looked around. There were beams that criss-crossed the ceiling but no discernible way to reach them. I squeezed past the sarcophagi the druagr had come from and found a beam that happened to be close to my goal. Carefully I scaled the beam leaning against the wall and then gingerly traversed over to the beams overhead. I gained my footing and held my arms out for balance as I treaded carefully along the aged beams. This was a lot more fun in the middle of the night when the payoff was a valuable treasure, not a long-dead man with a kill order on my head.

            To take my mind off the drop that could possibly kill me, I wondered what it was Miraak had been up to. Traps had been plentiful. Right after we narrowly avoided the poisoned arrows, there had been pressure plates that caused giant logs to swing at our unsuspecting heads.  Then there was the large torture chamber that caused Frea to blanch and my stomach to fall. As Frea observed, this man wanted power but also wanted to protect himself as well.

            I finally reached the balcony and jumped off the beam, the ends of it cracking as my feet released my shifting weight. It wasn’t too much trouble finding a way for both of us to continue; I killed a few lingering cultists as I moved past to find a lever, rusted but still operational. I gave it a hard tug and I heard the echo of a gate opening.

Faintly I heard Frea shout, “It looks as if there is an opening here now!”

I doubted she would wait for me but surprisingly found her still in the room I'd climbed from. “What's wrong?”

“More draugrs,” she whispered. “I do not wish to wake them from their sleep.”

“We're going to push through; if we come across any more deathlords, we'll fall back here.” Damn it all if I let a few more dead Nord men stand in my way.

She nodded solemnly and we made our way through the crypts. We encountered a few undead and more cultists but we were able to make our way easily as more bridges fell to complete the path. For a few, brief minutes nothing happened. And then I could hear the sounds of faint swooshing. Never a good sound. We turned down a passage and were met with a horrific sight: a narrow passageway with nothing but swinging blades knocking back and forth in unison.

“There is no way we can get past that,” Frea motioned to herself. “Myself especially. You might be able to get by with only a few scratches. If you are lucky.”

I shook my head and chuckled to myself. “I can do it without a _single_ scratch.”

Her eyes widened and I motioned for her to move out of the way. I took a few steps back, timing out the pendulating swings and inhaled deeply.

“You might want to move,” I advised before taking a final breath and exhaling, “ _WULD… NAH KEST_!”

Fury fueled the emotions behind the tempest that pushed me forward and unleashed a whirlwind beneath my feet. The trick to moving quickly was to be certain, not second guess the direction. Moving faster than the eye could follow meant that tiny inconsistencies in what would be regular movement could escalate sharply into dangerous over-corrections when moving quicker. Any nicks or cuts threatening me were thrown back by the sheer force of my movement. But stopping was always unpleasant in closed spaces.

I hit the door at the end of the hall with a little more force than I would have liked and all I could do was try and absorb the force with my forearm. I heard something crack and I winced. Instead of a healing spell, I yanked a potion out and downed the sticky, bitter liquid. Grumbling, I flipped another switch which stopped the blades from swinging. Frea wordlessly ran down to meet me as I pushed open the door to what looked like the sanctum of the temple. I moved quickly and a bit ahead of her, not wanting to answer any questions or entertain any speculation. More draugrs and cultists and corpses littered the way down to a small tunnel that led us even further down. It provided a good excuse not to speak to one another.

“How much deeper can this be?” Frea wondered. “I have been told that Miraak's power was great, but to have built so large a temple...we cannot be much farther now. I feel it in my bones,” she continued to speculate.

“Dunno," I replied curtly but then stopped dead in my tracks.

"What is it?" Frea quickly asked.

"The voices…" I trailed off in a whisper. Hypnotic but familiar. We moved further down the stairs and the room opened up into a fantastic display of horrors. There were sarcophagi that lined the small room and in the center a great word wall was resting as the focus but hanging high above the ceiling was a large skeleton.

"A… _dragon_?" I whispered.

Frea walked forward slowly. "I had heard Miraak had turned against the Dragon Cult, but to display the remains in such a manner as this..." she stopped for a moment, staring wide-eyed at the bones. “It is no wonder the dragons razed his temple to the ground. Seeing the remains hung up like trophies must have enraged them to no end.”

It was enraging _me_. I hunted dragons but I didn’t treat the task as a sport; I did _not_ desecrate the bodies as trophies of my work. Being the _Dov Ah Kiin_ meant respecting that I was also the _Dovah kiin_. I killed out of necessity. I shared an immortal soul with them. Miraak though? He saw himself above him.

My thoughts were clouded by the chanting humming from the wall. Every ancient song, every long-forgotten word flooded my senses and my vision tunneled. I was no longer in control of my feet as I approached the wall, the chanting and the music now filling every sense until streams of light began to envelope me. I put my hand to the wall and let it fall to a word.

“ _Mul_ …” I mouthed and felt the word fill me as the sounds and light culminated into a single entity, blinding me and rendering me deaf. The next second it all went dark again. I blinked and found my vision was coming back. Not a new sensation but always uncomfortable not knowing if something was behind me ready to stab me in the back. I turned to face Frea only to see her mouth wide opened and shouting something. I couldn't make it out, my ears still ringing. I took a step forward and felt the ground shake beneath me. Instinctively, I ducked forward only to feel the swing of an axe narrowly miss my scalp.

I rushed from the origin of the attack and narrowly missed Frea as she rushed forward. Her shield met with the draugr that had sprung to life. He looked nasty and I wasn't about to pull any punches. Before he could swing at Frea I quickly threw an ice spear at him. Staggering slightly, the draugr regained his composure just in time for her to bring down a war axe upon his spine, crushing what sounded like something important. I spun on my toes and in one single motion unsheathed my sword and brought it across the opposite side along his neck. The head fell and the rest of the body followed.

Breathlessly I turned to Frea and offered a single, "Thanks." I wasn't fond of her honor and sense of responsibility but she had saved my life.

Her look was anything to simple. Written across her face was the look of every Nord I had ever met that saw me as their savior. “Please, think nothing of it… Dragonborn.”

I was between seething with anger and crying with disappointment. It was _that_ : the look and the expectations that came along with the expression. The expectation that I could do the right thing for everyone, despite the fact I was _constantly_ doing the wrong thing. Every step I believed to be the one in the right direction took me backwards. Whatever gratitude I had felt quickly washed away.

I returned her look of adoration with a stony, masked stare and said nothing. I sheathed my sword and continued to stare into her eyes, becoming aware of her discomfort. Finally I ordered, “Find a way out of here.” She didn't move. “NOW.”

With that she left my side and I bent down to examine the remains of the draugr and dug through the pouch at its side. All that it held was an old key. I turned it around in my hand, looking from my vantage point in the room for a door it might fit to. At that moment Frea called out, “There's a locked door right here.” It was fairly close to the word wall and probably where this gatekeeper had been resting. I walked over with the key and a secret passage gave way. I climbed in and Frea followed.

* * *

 

This little adventure was going badly. We had been stuck in the dark, dank kitchen that was tucked behind the hidden passage for what seemed like an eternity but what had actually been about an hour. Frea and I both had taken a break, sitting at the dilapidated table and benches, sharing slices of eider cheese and apples I had stored away in my pack. The wine we found on the shelves smelled okay but neither one of us dared touched any of it. There had been a few miscellaneous supplies but nothing helpful. She had noticed an odd crease in the dining room floor so we thought there might be a lever or switch that would open the way, but we had turned up nothing so far.

I had taken off my mask and hood to eat which gave rise to Frea commenting, "I did not imagine that the Dragonborn would be so…"

"Un-Nordlike?" I supplied helpfully.

She nodded in agreement. "No disrespect meant."

I shrugged. "It's alright. I would have rather it been given to some Nord.” I gave it some consideration. “It's… well, it's not easy at times. Being who I am, I mean." I wasn't sure why I felt safe opening up to her but the words were flowing naturally so I let them go. Something about her made my tongue a little looser.

She sliced a section of cheese slowly, methodically. "The Skaal are from the Nords but we are not them. I can imagine that you are in a similar situation: you are the great dragon hunter but you must have something of them for you to be so powerful."

I didn’t agree or disagree. "Just drop it," I mumbled.

"My father…" she continued while still carefully choosing her words. “He is the shaman of the Skaal. I have been preparing all my life to take his place but…”

I raised an eyebrow. “But?”

"It is not right that I should say this because I must honor my father's wishes; however, this is a path I never chose," she shook her head and sadly smiled. "I always thought that I would be a great hunter or even the village chieftain."

I took a bite out of the apple I was holding and small chunks flew out onto the table when I asked, "And that's not a possibility?"

Her smiled widened. "Hah! Not if Fanari has anything to say about it. When it comes to being chieftain, she is like a wolf with her jaws clamped tight upon a fresh kill. But that's alright.” The bright smile lost a bit of its enthusiasm as her eyes turned downward. “The Skaal need a shaman and I know that is my place."

I felt some pang of empathy for her. The parallels between our fates were undeniable; both of us were constantly held in a position and told that was our lot of life but the pull of our very nature telling us to damn our destinies. The glaring difference lay in that she seemed resigned—even happy—to settle into the notch someone else had carved out for her. I fought tooth and nail, screaming at every person who wanted me to be the person who could save them. "Well, for a shaman, you fight pretty well. Someone must have trained you," I encouraged.

She finished the last of her cheese and swallowed the last bite before answering. "It was Skaf the Giant, our former chieftain, who taught me the ways of battle. He was a great bear of a man and a fearsome warrior. I used to be terrified of him when I was a little girl. I was a restless and angry child and Skaf taught me swordplay so that I could, as he used to say, 'put that fire to good use,'" her voice hitched slightly, a hint of sorrow behind the silence. "He was a great man and a good leader. I miss him dearly."

This story seemed all too familiar.

I rose up from the bench, tossing the core of my apple onto the pile of rotted food remains on the table. "We need to find a way below."

Frea nodded in agreement and we both went back to looking for a way to activate the trigger. I threw a candlelight spell over myself and Frea, hoping that this would be the last time we’d be grasping in the meager light for a way down. Both of us retraced the crumbling remains of the kitchen and the dining area and a small corridor, sifting through more rocks and more sundries. I trudged through the corridor again, sighing as I leaned against a pedestal that lay in an alcove. The alcove had an opening that looked out toward the dining area where I saw Frea moving cabinets and other large furniture. "Maybe we should just give up," I suggested. At this rate, I’d rather just stay drunk in Raven Rock and let Miraak find _me_. If he wanted me dead so badly, I shouldn’t be the one running around in ruined temples just to deliver myself to him.

Frea snapped her head and glared at me. "I cannot simply _quit_. My people are in danger and I must help them." She grunted as she returned to pushing something from the wall.

I brought a pair of fingers to the edge of my hairline and slowly messaged the frustration growing into something more unmanageable. Although not a stranger to headaches, it was unusual for one to strike me so suddenly. Blaming it on the current situation, I slammed my hand down with more than a little force and my palm glowed red with pain as a large chuck of rock snapped away from the pedestal. "Oh, Oblivion take you," I cursed at it before I realized that my rash action had found our switch.

The pedestal must have been covered by years' and years' worth of debris and decay. The switch had simply been buried. Using my whole body to inch it upwards, it refused to give in easily.Even small progress was met with heavy grinding.

I heard a groan of stone and then Frea shouting in joy, "The passage! It has opened!"

I raced around, snatching my hood and mask and yanking them over my head as we descended the stairs. We were met by a strangely decorated circular room. Frea was quick to pick up the ruined books mumbling something about how we might be able to find something out in them but I was doubtful. The statuary was unsettling; we had seen some unfamiliar busts like them before but they were so infrequent that I thought them to be typical Morrowind decorations simply littering the temple. Now the dangerous-looking fish-like busts were gathered in a sort of way that reminded me of reverence, the way the Nines were displayed in temples.

"I do not like this place. It looks as if the statues will come to life at any moment," Frea commented while examining one mounted on the wall. "However… there looks to be a switch in the mouth of this beast." I didn't like where this was heading. "I will leave the honor of pulling that handle to you. I do not want to put my hand anywhere near the mouth of that statue."

I shot her a look that she couldn't see. "Yes, well anything for _your_ people."

I shoved my hand into the mouth and pulled the switch, snatching my hand back. A door opened and we descended down more stairways, killed more draugr and skeletons, and passed more of the disturbing fish with fangs immortalized in stone.

We finally came upon a room with a large statue—a writhing mass of limbs with appendages like a crab. I squinted. Something about it struck me as familiar but I couldn’t place where on Nirn I’d encountered it before. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was _more_ than familiar but it didn't look like it was in its natural state. There was a chain at the base of the statue as well as a chest that I looted for some gold and potions. The chain opened up yet another set of tunnels that led only to a circular room with a staircase. A lone book sat on a pedestal before us.

"This book... it seems wrong somehow," Frea began slowly and I watched her face give into the slow awareness that I was feeling. "Here, yet... not? It may be what we seek."

"As much as I don't want to believe we've just spent hours in this place looking for a gods damned book, I have to agree." I walked toward it and ran my hand over the cover. The writhing crab statue graced the cover, rekindling the familiarity I had felt from before. I lifted it and was surprised at how lightweight the large book was. I traced a finger over the spine as I read aloud, "Waking Dreams. Sounds like a real page turner," I scoffed.

Frea shifted uncomfortably. "Be careful."

"Sure," I replied curtly opening the tome, "because knowledge is dangerous." As soon as the words left my mouth I realized they sounded familiar to me as well. Mercer Frey. He warned me knowledge was dangerous when I started asking more questions, challenging his orders. But it wasn't just that. It felt like Mercer's voice was just an echo of someone who told me that before, someone I couldn't quite remember. I continued reading.

"The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of though." I stopped momentarily, feeling faint. Was the room getting smaller? Something felt heavy around me, strangling the breath from my lungs. "The rest is vulgar fiction, attempts to impose order on the consensus mantlings of an uncaring godhead. First…" and before I could get anything else out a mass of tentacles exploded from the book and ripped me from Nirn.

* * *

 

I would have said it felt like a bad dream but I knew from experience that I'd already had this one. _Ha ha_ , I laughed to myself, _get it_? Waking dreams?

Pages of old, rotting books flew all around. Broken, black-veined walls surrounded me, reaching impossibly high. I was prone, unable to reach my weapons or even will my hands to ignite the smallest glint. The air was oppressive and it felt like I was choking on… words? No. Immense knowledge. The knowledge from the pages fluttering wildly around, words from the piles and piles of books littering wherever it was I found myself. Dark, blurred splotches filled my vision and I kept hearing a murmur, a chant. All of it a repeat of my nightmare from the night before.

My vision sharpened just as a gilded boot stepped inches away from my head. I couldn't move my head but I strained my eyes to look upward; a tall, muscular man towered over me. He wore a dark purple robe in-laid with golden patterns I couldn't recognize. He was armored in gilded gloves, shoulder plates and a stylized mask that reminded me of a dragon priest's but with more emotion. Creatures I didn’t recognize floated not too far behind.

 _Miraak_.

Bile flooded my mouth involuntarily. I swallowed the acid back down.

The boot came closer to me and lifted my chin upwards. "Who are you to dare set foot here?" he demanded. Behind my mask I kept my gaze steely, my mouth set in stone. But I didn’t have to answer; it only took him a moment to realize who I was. " _Aaahh_... You are Dragonborn. I can feel it. And yet..." he took his boot away and my chin dropped onto the stone painfully. He stayed silent. I imagined he was trying to read my mask and finding no answers past it. I struggled but found I could move my feet. Immediately, Miraak shot at me with stream of lightening. As I curled up in pain, a great shudder came from beneath me. An odd-looking dragon had landed behind Miraak and the floating creatures.

"So you have slain Alduin..." his thick Nord accent gave his heritage away. “Well done. I could have slain him myself back when I walked the earth, but I chose a different path.”

I wanted to punch the smugness out from his gut. I was already beginning to see why the dragons wanted him dead.

Suddenly he shouted, " _MUL… QAH DIIV_!" My heart sunk as I realized that the first word was the one I had just learned as streams of light surrounded him and collected into the vague form of a dragon. "You…" he began while strolling towards the dragon, "have no idea of the _true_ power a Dragonborn can wield!" He turned toward me one last time and spread his arms wide. "This realm is beyond you," he hissed. "You have no power here. It is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon they will finish building my temple and I then can return home." Putting both hands on his hips, I could feel him regarding me. “But this _does_ change everything.”

I couldn’t begin to guess what that meant.

He turned his back to me and hoisted himself into the back of the dragon. Miraak looked at the creatures left floating and ordered, "Send her back where she came from. She can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel." Before kicking the dragon to rise he gave one final warning, "Do not interfere with my plans, Dragonborn." The last word sounded like he wasn't quite buying my title.

As the creatures floated toward me, they waved their hands in slow, pushing motions. The sounds they made sounded like they were mumbling underwater and the energy they were pushing reminded me of waves; the waves caught me in an undertow and suddenly I was carried far from wherever I had been.

* * *

 

I dropped the book as soon as I felt myself return.

"What just happened?" Frea rushed to my side and grabbed one of my shoulders. Had I not been so rattled, I might have been upset.

"I'm fine," I asserted. "Just a little frazzled."

"You… you were here but you were _not_ ," she emphasized. Pointing to the book she continued, "It was like that book, here but not."

"Well, I'm back so stop worrying," I brushed her off of me.

"So, what did you find out?"

I resisted the urge to say, "Surprise, Miraak is behind all of this!" but refrained. "I think Miraak was Dragonborn," I swallowed at the realization I'd just admitted to. "A Dragonborn _and_ a dragon priest. Not only did the dragons want him gone but he also has at least _one_ on his side. Looks like whatever power he claims to have, he's got."

"This is bad news indeed."

"Well, you'll be excited to know he's planning on making a return back to this mortal plane then," I added casually.

"Bad news," she echoed. "We should see my father in the village. Surely he will have some guidance."

I grabbed the book and sized it up before opening my pouch and cramming corners in, one at a time. Frea stared at me wide-eyed as if I’d gone mad. "What? I might need it later. Certainly don't want to leave it around here for anyone to pick up. Those cultists are bad enough but what if one of _your people_ read it?" That shut her up.

I started up the stairs and called out behind me, "I need some time. This is a lot to take in and I need to be ready if I'm going to take on Miraak. I need sleep, an inviting fire, and some ale in my belly." I thought for a moment before adding, "And maybe a man to warm my bed." I glanced back to see her redden slightly. "I didn't come to this island expecting to save anyone much less _everyone_. All I desired was peace and quiet from the cult trying to kill me."

She conceded, "I can appreciate where you stand but please, understand…" she was doing her best to be diplomatic. “I believe you are the only one who can save us.”

As I opened the door to Solstheim I muttered, "Of course you do.”

* * *

 

I hadn't said much to Teldryn since hauling myself back to camp. I simply charged through and ordered, "We're going back to Raven Rock," and kept walking. I could hear him shouting, some of it in Dunmeris which I assumed wasn’t polite. It wasn't until we were halfway there that he fully caught up with me.

"In a hurry to get back?" he drolled sarcastically but a bit out of breath. His carried his helm under an arm.

I kept my brisk pace, hoping to make him miserable. "Is it _that_ obvious?"

His hand came down on my shoulder as he growled, " _N'wah_ , slow down." My frustration and anger had no place for his irrtation. I stopped in my tracks and he smacked into me.

I spun around, his face inches from mine. I yanked off my mask, threw back my hood and shoved a finger into his face. " _Listen_. I've got some serious problems. On top of _those_ problems, I have ones that are even _more_ pressing. And on top of those? _More_ problems. All _I_ want is to get back to Raven Rock and relax before throwing _my_ neck on the chopping block again for people _I_ don't care about." I thought about it for a moment as I gritted my teeth. “ _Again_.” I threw my hands up, now yelling into the wilds. “Is it too much to ask to be able to go _somewhere_ in all of gods damned _Tamriel_ without having people _need_ me to _do_ something?”

Teldryn gave me a wide-eyed stare. “Who on Nirn are you _saving_? I thought someone was trying to kill _you_?” Then, slowly, he replaced his hand back on my shoulder, a little tighter than it had been. I didn’t stop him but didn’t turn to look at him either. “I apologize for cursing at you but, damn me, you talk about dragons one moment and in the next talk about gods and now someone needs you to do something? One might think you mad. If I’m fighting alongside you, I’d appreciate knowing exactly what it _is_ I’m doing.” His hand slid slightly downward toward my upper arm, giving it a quick squeeze. “Is everything alright?”

I sighed and slowly slid his hand from my arm, suddenly feeling how intimate the motion had been. Surely he hadn't meant it that way but my emotions were in no place to be rational. Instead of answering with the same politeness I threw back, "Did you patronize your other employers like this? I paid you five hundred gold to be a mercenary, not a milk nurse. If I wanted someone to comfort me I would go to a temple and needlessly pray." His nostrils flared as he pursed his mouth in annoyance. Realizing that maybe I shouldn’t _completely_ botch up our relationship, I lost steam. An unhappy hire didn’t make for good battles. "All I want is to sleep, get drunk, and maybe find someone to take to bed. I don't want to think about any of this until tomorrow and it's getting late."

Teldryn arched a brow at me, knowing all of his unanswered questions were going to stay that way for now. So he waved the issue aside and smiled in agreement. “No problem, I can help with those things as well.” My eyes widened at the exact moment his mouth fell. “I meant with the getting drunk part not… I mean, drinking _with_ you—not getting you drunk and _taking_ you to bed, which—” He quickly put on his helm and adjused his kerchief around it, fingers fumbling and grasping the fabric.

My face on fire, my tongue failed to stay composed as I also tugged and pulled at my own hood. My hair did a fantastic job at making it harder than it should have been. “I… yes… well, I didn’t mean for _you_ to be in my bed…” I shook my head, pursing my lips. “I knew what you meant but—”

 “Well, I didn't mean I _wanted_ to bed you,” Teldryn talked over my words at the same time, “—but I… uh… not that I _wouldn't_ if…”

I floundered, “Yes, yes. Getting drunk. Returning to Raven Rock. Sleeping in different beds. _Clothed_.”

“Or unclothed,” he shrugged. “We’re in separate beds. In theory.” He sighed deeply. “ _Not_ that I think about _you_ unclothed.”

We simply stopped.

After a few moments of silence, Teldryn clapped his hands and loudly offered, “So, did you have fun at the temple?”

I groaned, exasperated with the turn this conversation had taken. “I _get_ it. Alright? Neither of us thought you were offering to bed me.”

He coughed uncomfortably. “ _Riiiight_. Well put.” A few more moments passed before he added, “But, and this is completely for the sake of clarity, if I _had_ you wouldn’t have immediately refused? You would have given it _at least_ a moment’s thought?” He sounded a little more easy now, almost smug.

I glared at him. “I swear I will dismiss you if you hold anything over my head.”

He held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I just don't want to be the only one with an embarrassing admission of… whatever I just admitted to,” he waved his hands dismissively at the last part.

I inhaled deeply and caved, “ _Fine_ , I'm not telling you that I would object to bedding you.” His kerchief turned upward with his wide grin and I elbowed him hard. “We find one another mutually _not_ reprehensible. Alright?”

“Even better put,” he cleared his throat. “What about that folio Cindiri wants you to find? Now _that_ sounds exciting.”

“I have half a mind to stab you for that comment,” I answered flatly.

He laughed. “See? There we go. Back to our easy patron/hired blade relationship. I liked that.”

I snorted and teased, “What, more than the thought of bedding me?”

"Now I have half a mind to stab _you_."

"So glad we're back to our easy relationship. Besides," I ribbed him playfully, "I wouldn't want to get between you and your girlfriend now."

"Girlfriend? Do tell. Tell me she’s as pretty as you are."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, you know… a fiery maid who comes at your beck and call."

He crossed his arms. "Oh, you're just _jealous_ that my atronach is far stronger than yours."

"Sure, sure," I climbed down the hill leading to Attius Farm. "The way you're jealous of my superior skills with a sword."

Teldryn whistled. "What a blow below the cuirass. And I thought you were _nice_.”

I laughed. Harder than I had in a _very_ long time. It was nice having someone who seemed to share my sentiments instead of working against them. I wasn’t used to it, at least I hadn’t been for a long while. By the time we reached the edge of Raven Rock, one of the guards began walking toward us. Whatever ease I had left me as the guard pulled off his helmet, revealing himself to be Captain Veleth.

"Captain? I’m loathe to ask to what I owe _this_ pleasure."

"Second Councilor Arano would have a word with you, m'lady. As soon and discreetly as possible."

"And?” I pressed.

"That was all I was told, m’lady."

I nodded but as he left I turned to Teldryn and sighed, crossing my arms. "I really hope whatever Arano wants doesn't cut into my drinking time."

"Or your bedding time," he pointed out helpfully.

"You aren’t going to allow me a moment's peace, are you?" I cocked my mouth in amusement.

"When I said I was the best sword for hire in Morrowind, it was including my services as a guide in the bedroom,” he joked.

I allowed my forehead to rest in the palms of my hands as I muttered inaudibly under my breath, "Surely, this is not what the gods had in mind for a dragon hunter."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Nothing. Let's go see what Arano wants and then head over to the Netch."

“The _Retching_ Netch,” he corrected.

“Yes, yes, whatever.”


	7. Teldryn Interlude I

I tended to the firewood best that I could before admitting there was nothing else for me to do. I didn't care much for the reavers but I had to give them credit for a nicely kept camp. If I'd known Rook was planning on leaving me behind, I wouldn't have taken care of the locks and traps. I didn't buy that she thought me _so_ useful as to want to spare my life; if I were, she would have taken me along for the fight. No, Rook was the type of person who left hires behind if she thought them _useless_. Whatever was going on, she was working hard to keep me at two arms’ lengths away from it. Why? I couldn't even begin to guess.

To be fair I was beginning to second-guess my decision to offer my services. Maybe it was best if I didn’t follow her _everywhere_. Who would trust someone who looked like she did? At first, I tried not to let her appearance off-put me because even _I_ ran around covered head to toe in the ash. Then I began to have the feeling Rook stayed covered no matter what—what kind of person wanted to stay hidden in dark colors all the time? But that suspicion was conflicted by the fact that she didn’t seem bothered by letting me see her face so I had to wonder what drove her to armor herself the way she did. Maybe she _was_ half-mad. Last night I watched her toss and turn as she slept and then, when she woke up, ended up mumbling about dragons and burning and sparing  and gods while entranced by the fire.

It was more than a little troubling.

“That’s what you get for agreeing to be hired by a woman who steals your sujamma,” I mumbled to myself but found myself thinking about how she wasn’t bad looking. Sure, I’d had better looking women but that didn’t mean Rook wasn’t altogether interesting. I would have paid to know what ancient Mer blood her family line had been bred with eras ago. She was distinctively Man but there was no denying the elf influences with those cheek bones and almost pointed ears. It made for a surprisingly pleasing sight. I also couldn’t deny that Rook seemed to have much more exciting work for me than my usual job requests.

Save for now, of course.

For a couple of hours I tried repairing my armor best I could with some spare resin and chitin but it was a shoddy job. I knew the only way to get it back to prime was to visit Glover's forge. Although that meant he and Rook would need to discuss more things privately, leaving me out of whatever her plans were. That secrecy troubled me as well. In all the years I lived on Solstheim, I _never_ saw him charge so little for his craft. Asking Rook would be fruitless. Trying to guess the reason from whatever answer she gave me would be impossible because she was impenetrable. It was infuriating. Even when she took off her mask, her armor, and her gear the feeling that she was fully covered never went away. Earning her trust was something I needed to secure or we weren’t going to make it far; I’d never had a patron who just _left_ me behind.

I laid my armor aside, left sitting on the log bench in a rough, cotton tunic and breeches watching the fire burn away as the sun set lower into the sky. My last employer had been a jovial Nord, happy to be fighting or drinking or chasing after a bar wench. Jurgen Stonearm had been his name. Always talked about having a niece in the Companions; when he got too drunk he'd challenge men to fight against "a clansman of the Companions." I couldn't even strangle a first name out of my current employer. When she'd told me she was a Breton, I tried guessing based on my experience with them but nothing seemed to quite fit her. She could have been raised by the wolves and it would have made more sense.

She must have not always worn a mask though; when she took it off, there lay a distinct scar running diagonally from the brow of her left eye to under it. There were other scars, smaller and lighter. Without her armor, I could tell Rook was no stranger to the battlefield. The exposed parts of her gave away tales of old injuries on her lower arms and legs but a group of nasty lines ran side-by-side down from her shoulder to further down within her shirt. They looked too big to be any animal I had ever faced. I could almost believe a dragon had taken a swipe and she had lived to tell the tale with the size of those things.

When she had left me with the empty bottle of sujamma the night she hired me, Geldis asked me if I knew her, wondered if she was another mercenary. I had thought so too at first, thinking she had a big job in Morrowind planned and wanted some back-up. What I had seen though didn't quite match; Rook was interested in wealth but not in the way most of my employers had been. In the past they’d make us sit down after the day was over, counting and dividing each coin meticulously. Rook was more likely to leave stores of gold behind if it interfered with… whatever it was she was doing.

But dragons? She struck me as someone who wouldn't buy into old Nord's tales but I had heard whispers that dragons _had_ returned to Skyrim. Maybe there was good money to be had in dragon slaying and I just never caught onto it what with being here in Morrowind these past few years. I tried remembering my last months in Skyrim. I had been stuck living in the Grey Quarter of Windhelm and that _n'wah_ of a Jarl hadn't been seen for months. He'd returned with a tale of a dragon burning Helgen to the ground. I could never be certain if it was true or if it was tale he had spun to whip his pitiful rebellion up into a frenzy. Then again, for all I knew, Rook _was_ from Windhelm and only knew what the Jarl told her.

Or maybe my patron was a madwoman.

I helped myself to another bowl of the cabbage apple stew. Maybe I had given her _too much_ space. I didn't like upsetting employers but I needed to put my foot down. I was a mercenary not a bar tender to be ordered around as she pleased. I was beginning to feel that if I didn't, I'd be in this situation more than a few more times. Maybe not the same camp but always waiting around feeling useless. Mercenaries earned their coin; they didn't have it handed to them. Rook seemed reasonable enough, save for whatever she had been rambling about before she relieved me of last night's watch. I put my bowl away, resolved.

“Just tell her you're not paid to sit on your arse. You're paid to fight,” I tried convincing myself, staring into the fire again. I allowed myself to believe that for all of a second. “Who am I kidding? She'll just look at me and tell me I'm not paid to have an opinion.”

Figuring out how to deal with Rook would be a lot easier if I knew what in Oblivion she was doing on Solstheim. I'd worked for women before—stubborn battle-ready Nords—but they had predictable expectations. There was usually a job I was hired for and we traveled until we finished. Afterwards, I was dismissed. Rook seemed to have no specific job for me in mind; I was certain she thought I'd be a useful guide around the island but it wasn't as if the island was large enough to need one. Maybe she was woefully misinformed about what Morrowind looked like. It wasn’t as if that wasn’t an _uncommon_ thing to find in most Men.

“Alright then,” I tried convincing myself once more, “don't back down. Tell her that you're only as good as she allows you to be.”

At that moment a dark figure briskly walking toward the camp caught my eye, cape whipping wildly behind it. I stood up to briefly wave at her but she showed no signs of slowing down. Instead Rook blazed through the camp and only muttered tersely, “We’re going back to Raven Rock,” as she sped past me.

My head spun. “What? What’s…” but she didn’t turn back and was keeping at a steady pace. “Hey!” I yelled, rushing to pull on my armor and “Whoa, hold on there!” My hands fumbled at the buckles and straps. “Rook!”

I quickly jerked on my gauntlets as I hopped from one foot to the other, yanking on my boots. By the time I had secured my weapons, she was out of sight.

“ _N’wah swit_ Outlander!” I screamed at her, knowing she couldn’t hear me. “Tribunal damn her,” I muttered to myself. I took one look back to assess if I’d missed anything and then jogged after her; in this heat it was a little unbearable but I needed to catch up. I kept having to shift my helm nestled between my arm and hip.

What was her _problem_?

Luckily for me, the run was all downhill. Quite unfortunate though was the fact she was halfway to Raven Rock by the time I did catch up. I was still a little ways behind Rook when she was in ear shot.

“In a hurry to get back?” I tried sounding a little easy but I was out of breath.

            “Is it _that_ obvious?” She continued walking.

            I reached out to stay her, frustrated. “ _N’wah_ , slow down.” I briefly wondered if she even understood _basic_ Dunmeris when I ran into her.

            I was about to ask her if everything was fine when Rook ripped her coverings off and flew into my face, yelling at me and then yelling at the sky. I couldn’t make any sense of it at all.

            _Gods, Teldryn_ , I thought to myself, _she_ is _mad._ I stared at her wide-eyed, trying to make sense of what she was telling me. I thought she was just exploring a temple but she had returned convinced that she now had to save people.

            “Who on Nirn are you _saving_? I thought someone was trying to kill _you_?” I thought maybe some comfort was in order so I laid my hand on her shoulder sympathetically. “I apologize for cursing at you,” was the best I could find until my frustrations creeped in, “But, damn me, you talk about dragons one moment and in the next talk about gods and now someone needs you to do something. One might think you mad. If I'm fighting alongside you, I’d appreciate knowing exactly what it is I’m doing.” It sounded alright, harmless. My hand though slid downward and gave her arm a quick squeeze. Maybe she just needed to vent. “Is everything alright?”

            And for a brief moment I thought that was what she had need to hear; she sighed and her hand moved mine. Looking a little less burdened, I thought she was finished. But then she lashed out again, “Did you patronize your other employers like this? I paid you five hundred gold to be a _mercenary_ , not a milk nurse. If I wanted someone to comfort me I would go to a temple and needlessly pray.”

            Alright. Obviously not.

            She continued, sounding tired, “All I want is to sleep, get drunk, and maybe find someone to take to bed. I don't want to think about any of this until tomorrow and it's getting late

            I met her response with skepticism but, not wanting to cause any more conflict, I gave in easily without a thought to my words, “No problem, I can help with those things as well.”

            I didn’t realize what I had implied until I saw her face redden. _B’vek._

“I meant with the getting drunk part not… I mean, drinking _with_ you—not getting you drunk and _taking_ you to bed, which—” Oh blessed Tribunal, there was no way to make this sound good now. Either I sounded like I wanted to bed her or I _didn’t_. Without knowing her well, I couldn’t gauge which would be a worse insult. I decided a better use of my time would be to cover my own face.

            She spent the time doing the same instead of lashing out at me again. She seemed thoroughly embarrassed. I would have laughed at that realization if I wasn’t feeling the same. “I…yes… well,” Rook began. She sounded just as ruffled as I was. I didn’t mean for _you_ to be in my bed…” She shook her head. “I knew what you meant but—”

            “Well, I didn't mean I _wanted_ to bed you,” I tried explaining before realizing it made things sound worse. “—but I… uh… not that I _wouldn't_ if…”

            “Yes, yes. Getting drunk. Returning to Raven Rock. Sleeping in different beds. _Clothed_.” Now she sounded a little annoyed.

            “Or unclothed,” I conceded. “We’re in separate beds. In theory.” She sighed deeply. “ _Not_ that I think about _you_ unclothed.”

            Oh, _gods damn_. I bit my tongue.

            We avoided saying anything for a moment before I decided to try and pretend that the conversation never happened. “So, did you have fun at the temple?”

            Surprisingly, Rook didn’t drop the topic. “I _get_ it. Alright? Neither of us thought you were offering to bed me.”

            I grinned widely. Maybe she _was_ a touch mad but she was so much _damned_ fun.

“ _Riiiight_. Well put.” I let the comment sit before pressing my luck. “But, and this is completely for the sake of clarity, if I _had_ you wouldn’t have immediately refused? You would have given it _at least_ a moment’s thought?”

            Her feet almost stumbled at my question and she immediately spat out, “I swear I will dismiss you if you hold anything over my head.”

            And I smiled to myself, feeling a little more relaxed now. To her I said, “I just don't want to be the only one with an embarrassing admission of… whatever I just admitted to.”

            Rook kept looking straight forward, no sign of distress now. She sighed, “ _Fine_ , I'm not telling you that I would object to bedding you.” And I couldn’t stop my mouth from grinning widely. She surprised me again by elbowing me. “We find one another mutually _not_ reprehensible. Alright?”

            “Even better put,” I agreed. I tried changing the topic again but we eventually ended up teasing one another again. Mad or not, I’d not been employed by someone I enjoyed being with in a _very_ long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny how big of a character Teldryn became in this story. In fact, having two narrators for RoS influenced the set up for the rest of the Hero, Event, Prophecy series. It wasn't my idea either to have him narrate so regularly; early in the story, I had a pretty good person to bounce feedback off of and they came up with having a Teldryn's POV every now and then but I ran with it. So, what's interesting here? Teldryn isn't the type of person who wants to sit on his ass. His background gets really fleshed out, but I image that mercenaries aren't really into boring and regularity. This guy craves the fight--it's an insult that Rook tells him to wait around.
> 
> And, of course, the introduction of Rook and Teldryn's relationship as friends and partners into something maybe more. While not a BIG focus for me, it's important to know that neither are big into romance or intimacy. These two are about the job, the coin, and the alcohol... at least for now (minor spoilers). I hate characterizing them as an OTP because "one true penis" syndrome often places external forces pushing two or more characters together with no rhyme or reason. It takes away agency from Rook to make her own decisions (or other characters for that matter). Let me tell you, Rook is not easy to deal with when I write. Trying to push her and ANYONE together would never work out because it's not her choice. "Teldrook" (as it were) becomes born out of mutual respect over time (and, yes, sometimes there's some banging out going on but it's not the focus). 
> 
> So, thanks for reading! Next time we'll be back to Rook's POV and there'll be some alcohol involved. Lots of alcohol.


	8. Equivalent Retaliation

I was beginning to regret my decision to help Arano; I had found myself in the middle of a Dunmer house conflict and I couldn’t understand the damn problem. Teldryn was doing his best to explain but it was either too confusing or I was too drunk. We had spent the last three days in Raven Rock trying to sort out the mess quietly in the dark of night so as to not raise suspicions. Under Geldis’s advice, we staked out the Ulen family’s ancestral tomb only to find ash yams commemorating someone's memory.

            “I’m going to stuff Arano’s _arse_ with an ash yam if this turns out to be a wild goose chase,” I slurred a little and took another swig of sujamma. It was definitely _much_ stronger than I remembered it being.

            Teldryn took a heavy sip from his container and added, “I agree. I’ve been going mad staying in Raven Rock these past three days.” He motioned for another round of sujamma which Drovas quickly brought to our table tucked away in a dark corner. The Retching Netch was buzzing with life so the more discretion the better.

            I grabbed one of the mugs and took a long, heavy sip. “If I have to spend another night in that dank ash pit waiting for someone to _not_ show up, I’m going to tell Arano to start paying for my drinks.”

            Teldryn chuckled. “Although I’m beginning to think that _maybe_ we should find something else to do besides drinking our days away.” He waved a hand toward me. “How’ve you not drank yourself blind yet?”

            I felt my head spin; maybe the sujamma was catching up with me. “How’ve _you_ not drank yourself blind?” Okay, maybe more than a little drunk. “Yet.”

            Teldryn laughed more freely. “Alright, alright. I’m not arguing with a drunk woman.”

            I glared angrily at him the best I could through my hood; I’d decided to wear my Nightingale mask for staking out the tomb but it was also much more convenient to drink in. “You are…” I took another swig and the sujamma flask slammed down harder than I intended. “… _infuriating_.”

            We had been together often enough now that I had gotten used to the thick glass that protected his eyes. Now I could see that he raised an eyebrow. “Infuriating, hmm?” he slowly drawled. “ _Do_ tell.”

            I finished off the sujamma and leaned down close to the table, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. “You never take that off mask…” I thought about it for another moment. “I mean, mask off. What’s with that?”

            “You’re asking me why I don’t take _my_ mask off?” he sounded a lot less drunk than I felt. I’d come to the conclusion that I was probably a lot drunker than I expected to get tonight. It was even more disappointing in light of the fact there was not a warm body to be found in Raven Rock to share my bed.

            “ _Yes_ , that is what I asked yooooou,” I let my finger linger in the air a little longer before using the hand to start on another draft of alcohol.

            He knocked on his chitin helm and a wide smile stretched underneath his kerchief. “First off, it’s not a mask. Second, it’s damn fine armor. _Third_ ,” he emphasized. “I think it makes me look roguishly mysterious.”

            Squinting I warned, “If you’re going to start down _that_ path again, I’m going to share my drinks with someone else.”

            “Oh? Like who?” he waved his arms around the Retching Netch and I smiled a little. Maybe he was a little drunk as well. “I bet Drovas would be _excellent_ company.”

            “Ha. Ha. Ha,” I replied joylessly. I put down the last of my sujamma and held my head. Hopefully, my feet could walk without me until I reached my room. “Ugh. I’m so glad all of you dark elves live in these underground places. It’s too early in the day to be this drunk.”

            “It’s only…” he looked into the bottom of his flask, trying to find the time there. “Actually, I have no idea what time it is. Except that it’s probably time for us to get some sleep.” He yawned as if to prove his point.

            I pulled out my timepiece and groaned. “Late.” Maybe I’d spent more time drinking today than I thought. At this rate we were going to get very little sleep before staking out the tomb again tonight.

            “Well, that explains the crowd. Was wondering about that.” He put a few gold pieces on the table and I did the same. “What’s the plan now?”

            I tried standing up but quickly found I needed the table for support. Teldryn laughed a little before he found himself stumbling too. My mouth without my consent slurred, “It looks like _both_ of us need to stop drinking so much before work. Here,” I offered my arm and he took it, wrapping his own around my shoulder so we both clumsily supported one another.

            “Well, then, it looks like we’ve got this figured out,” Teldryn joked as we bumped into people and knocked over someone’s drink into their lap.

            “HEY!” I heard an angry growl behind us followed by the clink of armor shifting.

            “Teldryn?” I whispered in a half giggle as we both grinded to a halt.

            “YOU TWO,” the voice demanded again. Whoever we had just upset was now just behind us and screaming in our ears.

            “I think we’ve upset someone,” he observed helpfully.

            Before I could exhale, a hand pulled on my shoulder and turned me around roughly. I came face to face with Slitter, a man I’d come to hate over the past few days here.        

            Slitter had the high cheekbones and long, thin face of a Dunmer. Unfortunately, he made poor choices in hairstyle and personal grooming habits, as his chin-length hair was slick with grease and hung down limply. His chitin armor was in bad condition as well; I briefly wondered if he had ever been to a blacksmith. Then I made a bad decision.

            “We hurt your feelings, ugly?” I taunted, poking him in the chest. Teldryn tried pulling me back gently but I broke from his grasp. “You needed a _bath_ anyway.”

            He swung. I ducked, missing his fist and then swung mine in return. I came from underneath and knocked his head back. I heard patrons gasp around me and a few chairs slide away but I was confident that no one was coming to help out Slitter; he was Mogrul’s bodyguard, not the other way around. Slitter bounced back and swung at me again, this time hoping to catch my side and throw me off balance. I caught his fist with one hand and slammed an open palm up into his sharp, narrow nose.

            “Argh!” he yelled, stumbling backwards and grabbing his face. Blood was dripping from the cracks in his fingers. “ _N’wah s’wit_!” I thought I could hear Mogrul laughing from the other side of us.

            I spit on his boots and cursed, “Filthy bandit.” Turning on a heel, I realized that the adrenaline rush that had hit me wasn’t long lasting and I stumbled forward again. I regained my footing and turned to Teldryn. “I think it’s time we go.”

            We stumbled to my room at the end of the inn and I made sure Teldryn locked the door shut before falling sideways onto the bed. I raked my hood off my head, ripped off my mask—both fell unceremoniously onto the floor. Tossing my hair out, I joked, “I think I made a friend.”

            Teldryn sat beside me and patted my leg. “Well, when I was younger I always pulled a girl’s hair when I fancied them. Maybe Slitter is trying to tell you something.” He laughed at his own joke.

            “Yes,” I began dryly, “my absolute _favorite_ Dunmer… the dirty, greasy skeever.”

            Teldryn took off his helm and acted offended. “ _He’s_ your favorite Dunmer?”

            I cleared my throat and pointed a finger upward in declaration. “Rightly so. My _favorite_ Dunmer is…” Teldryn smiled widely, beaming with pride. “…Ravyn Imyan.”

            His smile dropped comically and he gasped. Dropping to lie down beside me he mockingly sulked, “You hargraven. Choosing some old, out-dated mage for a young, fit warrior like me.” He crossed his arms and continued to pretend to pout.

            I sat up so as to annoy him and made a big show about saying, “First, Ravyn taught me everything I know about archery…”

            “…is that why you can’t loose an arrow to save your life?” Teldryn interrupted.

            I ignored him. “Second, Ravyn is a young, fit… _talented_ individual,” I chose my words carefully. “And third, you’re right. Without your helm you don’t look roguishly mysterious anymore; you look _old_. Sorry, you’ve lost.”

            Teldryn sat up, mimicking me. “ _Old_? I’ll have you know I’ve only seen forty-two seasons cycle.”

            “ _Ancient_ ,” I emphasized, “when you’re as young as me.” I waved my hands downward making my point.

            “Oooh, do tell. I’d love to know how someone as _young_ as you received all of those scars.”

            I went quiet and started yanking off my gloves and boots. Drunkenness might make me a little loose-tongued but Teldryn was hitting a little too close to being more open than I would have liked.

            “What?” he asked, acutely aware of my silence. “Are you going to deny having all those scars now?”

            I unclasped the buckles on my armor and shrugged off the chest and arm plates. “Why do you always need to know things? I pay you good coin. That should be enough.”

            Teldryn shrugged. “Maybe if I knew exactly _why_ you were paying me so much, I wouldn’t be so curious as to why you keep me around. Five hundred gold a week to sit around in Dunmer tombs all night? Surely you’re not afraid of ghosts,” he half-joked.

            I tugged off the rest of my armor and placed it all in the dresser, leaving Teldryn sitting on the bed and tugging off his gloves. “Would you like more?”

            “I’d like more _work_ ,” he complained. “Why did you hire me? And don’t tell me it was to play tour guide. You seem like you’re more than capable of handling yourself around Skyrim. Solstheim is miniscule compared to some of the Holds.”

            The rest of my inebriated state burned off with my annoyance at his question. Instead of answering his query, I addressed his concern. “You want more work? As soon as we get this thing with Arano cleared up, you’re coming with me to the Skaal’s Village.”

            Teldryn sat wordlessly, simply nodding.

            “I don’t know what they want from me but I can tell you there’s going to be dragons involved.”

            “Rook, listen, I know dragons might be in Skyrim with the World-Eater and whatever else those Nords go on about…”

            “—and now they’re on Morrowind,” I continued, ignorning his concerns. “ _In addition_ to that there’s a former, thousands of years old Dragonborn, dragon priest who’s obsessed with coming back to this plane to take back control of Solstheim.”

            Teldryn stopped nodding and cocked his mouth upward in skepticism.

            “Just so you know, I’m going to have to take care of _that_ problem at some point.”

            “And then?” he finally cut in.

            “And then _what_?” I echoed, finally down to my pair of soft leather pants and roughspin shirt.

            “Are you going to clean up all of the ash on Morrowind? No, wait, maybe you’re going to travel back in time and stop the Red Mountain from erupting and reclaim all of Vvardenfell’s former glory back, hmm?”

            It was my turn to stare at him.

            “You can’t have me believe the problem is as… _wild_ as you describe it,” he contended.

            I shrugged, not in the mood to be convincing. I lay back down on the bed beside him, yawning. At this rate, I wouldn’t be getting any sleep at all. “If it isn’t then easy money for you; if it is, then you’re well-paid for the job.”

            Teldryn nodded and then a quiet came over him that suggested there were things lingering on his tongue that we wasn’t letting free. I was too tired to guess what they might be.

            “What?” I asked finally, almost in a whisper. My eyelids felt heavy and I stretched out, allowing my muscles to release whatever tension had been knotted and tangled within them.

            “So, you going to tell me where you got your scars?”

            “Why are you so interested?” I yawned again, drawing the last part of the sentence out. “What about _your_ scars?”

            He thought about it for a moment and said, “How about this? Every day I show you one of mine and every day you show me one of yours.”

            I waved my hand, dismissing him, “Sure, sure. Hurry up, I wanna sleep for a little bit.”

            Teldryn pointed to the side of his head where a thick layer of black fuzz was growing out and in need of a fresh shave. “This,” he began, “is where an Orc bandit clocked me on the head from behind with a warhammer.” He rubbed it tenderly. “I was minding my own business, walking to Whiterun when he snuck up from behind.” He pointed to me. “Your turn.”

            “I must still be drunk to be indulging you like this.”

            He _tsk’d_ at me and moved to where he could lean over me slightly; there was nothing I could hide behind to stop him from seeing the full blush bloom on my cheeks. He smiled that wide, knowing smile of his and touched my cheek where the scar over my left eye ended.

            “If you won’t give me one willingly, I’ll take this one,” his smile softened. “I like how it stays pale when you redden like that.”

            “You’re drunk,” I mumbled but he just shrugged. I touched the scar he’d touched. His touch burned an imprint into my skin; I tried rubbing it away. “This one was from someone I trusted.”

            _Pavo Cartia_. Pavo had been an Imperial I met when I was young and living on the streets. Not much older than I, he convinced me to travel with him since we were both without our homes. It had been a good couple of years; he had the honeyed words and I had the quick hands. This was during the time when the Empire wasn’t fighting for control in Skyrim. High King Torygg was ruling and all seemed at peace. I can’t be quite sure why Pavo did it but one day while we were working, he suddenly caught my shoulders and screamed out, “THIEF!” As I turned to meet him, Pavo threw a dagger into my face. I couldn’t remember which Hold we were in but the soldiers had to pry me off of him. Blood had filled the vision of one eye but I had still pinned him down and threw punches at him as hard as I could. They let me off with a warning but I parted ways with Pavo.

            Teldryn answered, “Nasty business, backstabbing.”

            We stayed like that for a minute or two, either not knowing what to say or not wanting to say anything.

            All I could come up with was, “Would you mind waking me in about two hours?”

            “My pleasure. I’m not planning on sleeping anyway.”

            “Going back to the bar?”

            “I might. I was actually thinking about speaking with Geldis, seeing if I could find out any more about our mysterious ash yam devotee.”

            I yawned again and nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll see you soon.”      

            “Right,” he went to put his helm back on. “See you soon.”

            I was probably just tired but I thought I could hear something like wistfulness in his voice.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very few edits to this chapter as Rook and Teldryn's dynamic was spot on the first go. This chapter isn't just gratuitous filler though. Rook's interactions with Slitter will come back at the end of the story. We get hints of Rook's earlier years... more importantly they're truthful ones as she's drunk. Rook is mostly a reliable narrator but her dishonesty will come back in ways that may seem unexpected later on. What else? Oh, right, shameless gratuity. Don't worry. They'll get more moments at The Retching Netch. On a bed. Or no bed. 
> 
> Thanks to the guests and praeenut for leaving kudos and a special thanks to SuFin20 and praeenut for leaving helpful and wonderful feedback! If I've missed anyone, don't let me get away with it! 
> 
> See you next chapter for when we find out that Teldryn's conversation with Geldis leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It spells trouble for our battle buddies when it counts. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	9. A Lot of Blood

“You’d think they’d have known that fancy clothes aren’t proper armor,” Teldryn commented dryly before stepping over Tilisu Severin’s body.

            I kicked Mirra’s body lightly to make sure she wasn’t breathing. “I’m not sure that when Arano gave me the key that he meant for us to kill the wealthiest family in Raven Rock.”

            Teldryn began to rummage around in chests and cabinets, trying to find our evidence. “Don’t tell me that concerns you.”

            “Concerned about Arano seeing fit to lecture me for hours on end. Azura save me, that man does like to go on about Morvayn’s safety.”

            “Azura?” he sounded surprised. “When do Men go on about the Daedra?”

            I rolled my eyes. “Azura, Sithis, Talos. Take your pick. I’m not particular. The gods sure as Oblivion aren’t.”

            He made some noise that was between not convinced but content with the answer for now.

            As we made our way downstairs, Teldryn and I split up and searched each room. “When they claimed to be the wealthiest family in Raven Rock, they weren’t joking,” he called out from a room.

            “What’d you find?” I asked while scavenging through a dresser.    

            “A smithery to rival Glover’s for one. Who could live in a place this large?”

            I stifled back a comment; some of my houses in Skyrim were _much_ larger. “Who keeps a forge in a house is a better question.”

            We moved past an alchemy and an enchanting table when we reached a closed door leading to the master bedroom. Teldryn whistled in obvious amazement. “This is some set up down here.”

            I slapped him on the back and chided, “C’mon now, stay with the goal. We need to find this ‘proof’ Arano thinks the Severins have.”

            Before I could even begin checking every container, Teldryn stopped me. “I’m fairly certain if we’re going to find anything, it’ll be in there.” He pointed to a safebox tucked away behind some baskets.

            I walked over to it and crouched down, pulling out my lockpicking gear. Teldryn gave me space and explored the rest of the room. Whatever was in here was valuable; it took me three picks to get it open but I finally unlocked it.

            “Oh, my,” I awed as I pulled out gold and gems. “I don’t actually care if we find proof now.” I pulled out a slip of paper with a thick wax seal on it. I slid a finger underneath and read it. “Which we’ve found anyway. I think. Come translate all this Elvish house mess for me.”

            He cocked an eyebrow as a quick hand snatched it from mine. “How is it you can be disrespectful _and_ willfully ignorant at the same time?”

            “It’s a gift,” I snorted. “Just tell me what it means.”

            “I explained all of this to you earlier. Although…” he paused to look over the document. “I’ll admit that the particulars here are more than confusing. What in the name of the Tribunal is going on here?”

            I snatched it back. “Don’t care. All I see is ‘exact my revenge upon Lleril Morvayn’ and that’s all I really need for Arano.” I cocked my head toward the door. “C’mon. This was less work than I expected it to be, so I’m up for a little trip.”

            “It’s the dead of night. Arano won’t be up now,” he warned, catching my meaning.

            I stopped in front of the door leading outside, wagging a finger in disagreement. “Oh, _no_. Arano has kept me on this petty little job for about two weeks now. I _do_ have other things I’d like to take care of here. The ship back to Windhelm comes back in about two weeks; I’d hoped to have more finished by now. I’m going to wake Arano up in the dead of night and shove this piece of paper in his face so I can be done with this.”

            Teldryn opened up the door and we walked through. “Bold move for an Outlander like you waking up the Second-Councilor to just confirm his suspicions to him. I’m _suuuuure_ he’ll be happy about that.”

            I shrugged. We strolled through Raven Rock, stirring up ash around our boots. The cool, sea air hit my fingertips and I allowed myself to pull down my mask so that it could reach my face as well. A lot of the citizens were still under Miraak’s hold, far away and working on the strange structure on the outskirts of town. It was funny how Arano didn’t care as much about helping them as he did about staying in Councilor Morvayn’s good graces. But something was still off. “It usually isn’t this quiet around here.” When we reached Morvayn Manor I realized what was bothering me. “Where are all the guards?”

            “The ash spawn problem around here is more far-reaching than what you’ve encountered. The Redoran Guard are constantly fighting against them in and around town. Some nights aren’t as bad as others but tonight looks as if it’s particularly bad judging by the lack of protection around here.”

            “Which means no one will mind if I pick this lock,” I observed as I crouched down to work with the door. “Keep watch. This doesn’t look like it’ll be difficult.”

            Teldryn leaned against a wall with his eyes toward the streets. “So picking locks is just something you know how to do, hmm?” He sounded more than a little amused.

            “I also know how to fire mercenaries,” I mumbled. He responded with a curt laugh and I rolled my eyes, the corners of my mouth turning upward. Within a couple of seconds, true to my word, the door gave way. I warned him, “Stay as quiet as you can.”

            He nodded and we proceeded to enter. The manor wasn’t as impressive as I’d expected. The bottom floor consisted of a living area and a throne room but I didn’t see anything of real value worth taking. A set of stairs spiraled steeply upward to one side. A fire crackled off from somewhere, slightly startling me. As we took a couple of stairs, I heard Teldryn’s armor clinking quietly behind me, causing me to involuntarily cringe. I turned around and put my hand on his shoulder to gently stop him from proceeding.

            “I know your armor has all these hidden benefits that I’m sure you’d love to go on about,” I whispered.

            “But?”

            “It’s definitely not made to be _quiet_.”

            He held up his hands. “Ok, ok. I get the point. I’ll concede your armor is virtually undetectable.”

            "It _is_ undetectable,” I argued gently. “I’ll be back shortly.”   

            As I continued onward alone, the stairs ended abruptly—a small landing leading to a door the only destination. I had to unlock that as well but it was even less secure than the other had been. I tip-toed into the bedchamber and shut the door behind me. Arano’s obedience to Morvayn had been concerning before, but now it barely straddled the border of disturbingly odd.

            The bedchamber sectioned off into two bed areas. One led off into a room where only Cindiri slept in a bed for two. The other, larger section contained two single beds; on one laid a sleeping Morvayn snoring loudly and in the other slept Arano. Before waking him, I crouched down and stealthily moved behind the slumbering councilor. I slid a hand into the pouch that was attached to his belt. He didn’t hold much aside from a key and a piece of charcoal. Grumbling at the lack of gold, I threw my mask back on.

            I moved back around to face him, took the letter I had found, and then slid it onto his face. He exhaled once and when he inhaled he got a mouthful of paper.

            He waved a hand and sleepily demanded, “Wha…? What goes there?”

            “Wake up,” I ordered in a half-whisper. “We need to talk.” Before I gave him a chance to respond, I descended the stairs and found Teldryn eating some salted meat that had been left on the table. I sighed and went to his side. “Make yourself at home,” I offered sarcastically.

            “I was hungry,” he offered.

            I heard Arano come down the stairs, now mostly lucid. “What is this all about, Outlander? I swear if you have put Councilor Morvayn’s life in danger I will make sure you never step foot on Morrowind ever again!” he hissed.

            “Save the dramatics, Arano. Did you even read that piece of paper?”

            “I… uh...” he stumbled as he glanced at the piece of paper in his hand. Reading over it he began to smile. “Then we finally have them! All that remains now is chasing them down and bringing them to justice!”

            “Right, about that. We had to… _kill_ Tilisu and Mirra to get that evidence. They weren’t willing to cooperate quietly so I’m guessing whoever’s at Ashfallow Citadel won’t do so quietly either.”

            “Well, that settles it. I'm going to send two of the best Redoran Guard we have to take them down.”

            “Good, I’m glad that’s settled. Now, payment for the job?”

            “Oh, you’re part isn’t over yet. I want you to assist them any way you can. You and your…” he pointed to Teldryn. “Spellsword.”

            I quickly threw a hand up in disagreement. “No way. You asked for evidence and I brought it to you. Besides, you said you’re sending your best guardsmen.”

            Arano shook his head stubbornly. “No, no. That won’t be possible. I’ll send the men out first thing in the morning. You go out with them or you meet them there. I don’t care either way but I want this situation handled. I bid you a _good night_ , Outlander. Please, do see yourselves out.”

            I had to forcibly stop myself from grinding my teeth in annoyance. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer and he was already on his way back upstairs. I heard a door shut and I groaned. “I wouldn’t mind being paid to kill him.”

            “Come now. Arano is harmless. Annoying and stubborn but harmless,” Teldryn said, his voice a little concerned. “And sometimes the Morag Tong _do_ try to slip into town, but you don’t strike me as the type to be running around with assassins.”

            Deliberately ignorning him, I crossed my arms and huffed, “The Morag Tong aren’t assassins of any worth if Arano’s still alive.” Throwing my hands up, I stomped out to Raven Rock. It just never stopped. There was _always_ something else. Someone _always_ needed me.

* * *

 

            The pounding of a door cut through my fitful sleep.

            I groaned as I slowly rolled over and tried to smooth out my hair with no success. I threw my legs over sluggishly, my eyes unable to stay open. I yawned out, “Stop your knocking already. I’m up, I’m up.”

            “About two hours too late,” I heard Teldryn say from the other side of the wooden door.

            I sighed. Willing myself up, I trudged to the door and opened it. “Good morning to you as well.”

            Teldryn walked in before asking, “What _are_ you wearing?”

            “Clothes.” I pulled at the men’s dressing gown. It hung loosely from my shoulders and hit right below my knees. The sleeves dragged a little past my hands so every motion I made was a little more comical than I intended it to be. “You expect me to sleep in my smallclothes?”

            Teldryn took off his helm and cleared his throat. “Did I suggest that?” He cleared his throat again, obviously uncomfortable at the idea of my smalls. “Why aren’t you up yet?” He crossed to the other side of the room and settled himself into one of the rickety looking chairs. It creaked under his weight but seemed none the worse for wear.

            I threw up my hands and flopped onto the bed again. “Who cares?” I ran my fingers through my hair again; it felt like a skeever’s nest. I reached for my pouch next to the nightstand and started searching for something to unknot it.

            “ _Me_. We should have been at Ashfallow already.” Teldryn didn’t sound amused. His voice was tinged with a bit of annoyance.

            “Why? Arano said he sent his best men out there. What’s it matter if we show up a tad late? Exactly what punishment could Arano inflict if I’m not there to provide back-up for Raven Rock’s finest? There isn’t a whole lot of initiative for me to be there _on time_. Besides, the guards might just do the job for us.” I found an ivory comb, marbled with the writing of old giants, obviously made from a mammoth’s tusk. I pulled the teeth through, my hair refusing to yield quietly.

            He snorted in obvious contempt. Taking a small, soft-looking brush from his pouch, he vigourously dislodged ash from the cracks of his helm, tiny tufts of dirt loosening from the recesses and falling to the floor.

            I reached for the dresser drawer and retrieved my clothes and armor. I spun a finger around in Teldryn’s direction. “Avert your eyes. My fragile modesty must not suffer the abuses of wandering eyes.”

            I heard him mumbled something like, “ _Fragile modesty, my arse_ ,” before spinning himself around in the chair, still focused on cleaning his helm.

            “Why are you being such a mudcrab this morning? Usually you’re as happy as…” I tried finding the appropriate analogy but found myself at a lost. “Whichever god is the happy one. Let’s be honest, I don’t know my gods initimately beyond the ones that are useful.” I pulled on my underclothes and began to shrug into my armor, clasping it at the joints and around my torso.

            “I just need some sleep, which, _if I might bring to your attention_ , I might have gotten more of if you’d let me in on your plan to blow off Arano’s party,” he yawned as if to prove his point.

            I shrugged. “It wasn’t a _plan_ per se.” I clasped my cape to my shoulders and adjusted my hood. “I’m dressed by the way.”

            He left the chair askew but got up and put his helm back on. “Then shall we get on with this?”

            I gathered my gear, checked for essential supplies, and answered, “Sure.” He was in a foul mood and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just sleep deprivation that was bothering him. As we walked out of the Retching Netch and town, he was uncharacteristically silent. When I asked which way we were headed, all he gave me was, “East.” I followed him wordlessly, allowing him to take lead. We didn’t encounter much in the way of trouble. There was the occasional ash hopper although once we came upon a mage whose specialty seemed to be in casting ice spells but nothing problematic.

            There were moments I could feel a question rise in my mind and begin to blossom on my tongue, but I swallowed it down. Sympathy wasn’t a strong suit of mine but I was slightly concerned about Teldryn. That was the strongest emotion I could conjure; regardless, after an hour or so into our journey I resolved to just ask him about it.

            “So…” was about all I could get out.

            Luckily, he picked it up from there. “So what?” he snapped.

            I found my voice this time. “What’s wrong?”

            “ _You_ want to know what’s wrong?” his voice had a hint of sarcasm in it.

            I threw up my hands in defeat. “Forget I asked. Not like I pay you or anything.”

            His reaction was not exactly Teldryn-like. “ _Yes_ , let’s not forget that you pay me. Or maybe I’ve _forgotten_ I’m a mercenary; that’s a hard thing to remember sometimes.” His voice didn’t hold the easy tone it usually did. The annoyance behind it almost felt like anger.

            I also wasn’t good at deflecting conflict; instead I matched annoyance with indignant anger. “I _do_ pay you; you’re a _hireling._ You feel free to leave if _your chosen profession_ is not meeting your standards.”

            Teldryn stopped dead in his tracks. He took a finger and stabbed it into my armored chest. “And I’m a _mercenary,_ not just some _Dunmer_ who sits around lazily.”

            If I wasn’t angry before, I was fuming now. I pushed him back and yelled, “ _What_ is wrong with _you_?”

            “ _Nothing_ ,” he shouted back and stomped onward toward our destination, the echoes of our shouts left behind in the ash with nothing but silence afterwards.

* * *

 

            It turned out that Raven Rock’s finest wasn’t so fine.

After fighting off a handful of Morag Tong assassins we noticed the two guards dead at the foot of the door.

“I’m not sure if Arano overestimated their abilities or knew they weren’t the best when he asked us to help,” I commented.

Teldryn looked down thoughtfully before adding, “A horrible way to die. The Morag Tong aren’t exactly the most gracious of assassins.”

I simply nodded. Being part of the Dark Brotherhood, I had heard whispers of the Morag Tong but didn’t know much about them. I’d learned most from Ravyn, the Morag Tong turned thief. When I asked why he hadn’t simply joined the Brotherhood, he scoffed at me. They were dangerous and that was all I needed to know; a couple of the assassins had managed to stab deep into my armor, piercing it in the shallowest of places. My forearms had suffered the worst of the attacks but nothing that a healing spell couldn’t take care of.

We left the bodies at the door and entered the citadel. The Ulens were serious about keeping this place safe. The assassins weren’t much trouble but the place was littered with bear traps and pressure plates that triggered giant log walls covered in spikes. Teldryn and I were careful to avoid everything. We were then faced with a series of chains that needed to be pulled in the correct sequence to open up several doors. There was an area I assumed to be the Morag Tong’s living quarters. I decided to take a break before proceeding to the next room.

“This chest has a lot of potions, you need any?” I asked Teldryn.

He shook his head and continued to look around on his own. I shrugged and filched a few for myself. Whatever he was upset about, he wasn’t letting it go anytime soon. I continued to look around. I heard Teldryn clear his throat and then ask quietly, “Those guards out there… if we had been with them, do you think they’d still be alive?”

I shrugged again. “If they were good enough they wouldn’t have died in the first place. Isn’t it their job to serve Raven Rock?”

From behind I heard a fist pound a table and the clatter of tin flagons hitting the floor with violent force. “ _That’s it?_ That’s all you have to say?”

“Why in _Oblivion_ do you care?” Confused didn’t touch how I felt. “And why do you care to discuss this _now?_ When there are people still in here _ready to kill us_.” I added.

He didn’t answer aside from the sound of pulling the chain to the final door beside us; the crackle of a void swallowed itself whole and I was certain he’d summoned an atronach.

“ _Teldryn_! What in the name of Sithis are you doing?” I yelled, running around the corner quick enough to hear someone shout, “For Vilur Ulen! Long live House Hlaalu!” and then the clang of swords and the swish of magic.

I readied my bow and began loosing arrows as quick as I could, closing in distance. Either I was extremely focused or very lucky because every arrow found a fatal mark, one Morag Tong after another falling as I loosed each shot. Teldryn in his recklessness was down on one knee, the man I could only assume to be Vendil ready to strike a fatal blow down upon him. I sprinted, dropping my bow, and at the last second was able to bring out my sword and shield Teldryn with a well-placed block.

Vendil was strong—almost _too_ strong. I pushed back but he had an advantage; he was stronger _and_ was coming from above. I had blocked by dropping to a knee and was only pushing upward with my one-handed sword. He was pushing down with a two daggers, the force more powerful. I had thrust out one hand toward Teldryn, trying to keep one hand on him to make sure he knew I wasn’t going anywhere. His breathing was ragged. I grunted as I used my legs to give myself some leverage, using all my strength to push upwards.

Vendil sneered, “Are you one of Morvayn’s pets? Wretched girl, I’ll have my revenge so don’t presume to stand against me.” I felt his back leg relieve some of the pressure he had been pushing forward with and found my chance. Right before he could swing a dagger into my side I was able to shove upwards and throw him off his balance. Vendil stumbled backwards, away from Teldryn, and I found my chance to push him into a corner. With one hand I continued swinging the blade to block his daggers and with the other I hurled ice spikes into him until he finally dropped one of his weapons. The look of surprise on his face as I thrust my sword upward into his neck was not unlike the shock I felt as his other dagger thrust into my abdomen.

I felt a cold wave of shock as Vendil pulled it out and I could feel the cold mix with the hot of my blood that began pouring out. He dropped, lifeless, and my hand lost the grip I had on my sword. I dropped to all fours and felt my own breath run ragged. One hand was already holding where he’d landed the wound, blood running through my gloved fingers. I fell to my back unable to support myself any longer and let out a shout of agony. Weakly, I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing, tried to find my link to the magic.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been near death before. It just wasn’t pleasant. Shaking involuntarily, I could feel cold sweat run down my brow. I raked back my hood and ripped my mask off, allowing myself to breathe a little easier. From upside down I could see Teldryn on one knee but able to drink a few healing potions; he must have depleted his magicka link fighting Vendil. I weakly called out to him, “ _You’re welcome_.”

He looked in my direction and struggled to stand. His knees buckled a little but was able to make it to me. He quickly yanked his helm off, shoved his kerchief down, and immediately examined my wound. He shakily blurted out, “That’s a lot of blood.”

Every breath brought a raging fire in my belly, the slice of the knife’s path burning when my chest lowered or rose. I could feel my eyes blur and each time I blinked to try to clear my vision I was unsuccessful. Etched in his face was worry mixed with something else. Trying to get something out, I ended up coughing and sending myself into a new plane of pain.

“I… uh…” Teldryn faltered, his hands floating over my body wildly, “I don’t know how to heal others.”

I groaned as my body jerked upward, my back arching. “Help me up,” was all I could spit out. I countered his uncertain look with a darker one and he aided me in sitting up.

I closed my eyes and tightened the pressure I placed on my wound. Without his help, I staggered to my feet and was able to fall forward enough to hit a wall to support myself. I hadn’t checked but I knew there was blood everywhere: my blood. It was all over me and all over where I’d been. I felt Teldryn’s hand hit my shoulder and he whispered, “You shouldn’t be standing up.” Hidden behind his words were a fear of impending death. And, had I been anyone else, that would have been a real and founded concern. But he had no idea who _I_ was.

I took in one last breath before I felt my link strengthen and I took advantage of the moment. The hand on my abdomen glowed dimly. Grand healing took everything I had when I _wasn’t_ near death; at this point, I was flirting with the line between this plane and the next taking on a spell like this in this state. I inhaled and exhaled slowly, feeling Teldryn’s hand on my shoulder. I concentrated on that one real sensation and continued to build up the spell. The glow became brighter and extended to all of my extremities. It was like rolling upward onto a hill; it took more work on a steeper hill to build up to the top but as soon as the tipping point was reached, the climax dropped quickly and with sudden, fierce speed.      

The force of the spell wrapped around me and air flew up around me, my cape lifting lightly and my hair whipping at my face. The golden strands grew thicker. I could feel the greater application of the glow at my abdomen. Vendil’s dagger had cut deep, probably damaging some of my internal organs. That aside, I could feel something else pulsating in the wound. Maybe he enchanted it, poisoned it. Either way. It was making this process difficult.

I screamed out, the sound echoing through the now empty room littered with corpses. The large room had a small pool of water in the center back; it sloshed quietly as a few dead bodies hit the edges. I concentrated harder as I dug out a potent magicka potion from my pouch, throwing back the large bottle. Liquid ran down the sides of my mouth. Balling my other fist I pounded the wall as I willed the spell to grow larger. Finally blossoming to its full potential, it engulfed both me and Teldryn. He had taken a step back but I could tell he was regaining his strength from the spell as well.

As soon as I felt the wound close from the outside I exhaled and the gold disappeared suddenly, the room becoming dark and dull again. I dropped like a rock to my knees and fell over, curled into a ball. The pain was still excruciating but I was no longer in danger of dying. I think I fell asleep for a few minutes because at some point Teldryn was shaking me, asking me if everything was ok. I woke up and felt my stomach cramp into a painful knot.

“I’m alive,” I reassured him. I sounded weak even to myself.

“I see that.” He didn’t sound much better.

He sat beside me and I could see blood on his armor. “Sorry about your armor. The blood I mean.”

“Nothing I can’t get cleaned up,” he sounded ragged.

We stayed there like that for what seemed like forever. The pain was getting easier to deal with so I sat up and leaned against the wall, noticing the large amounts of dry blood on the wall and the floor. A trail ran from where I was all the way from the center of the room.

“I think,” I started slowly, “we should have a rule where I’m the only reckless one.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “When _you’re_ the reckless one both of us almost get killed.”

“Funny,” he replied dryly. He went silent before admitting, “I was angry at you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“You make it difficult to give an apology.”

I shrugged weakly and conceded, “Whatever it was I probably deserved it. No need to apologize.”

I heard him give an exasperated sigh. “Why do you do this? After almost three weeks you still refuse to tell me why you’re here.”

“I told you, someone wants me dead,” I observed.

He carded his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Teldryn, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“Listen,” he started to explain, “I’m usually not one for caring about my employers, what they do and what they want me to do. To be honest, my only jobs have been escorting people across the island in all the time I’ve lived here.” He gave me a long-suffering look. “But then you come along. You can obviously handle yourself and it seemed like you had no business here.”

“Well, you know, except for the people trying to kill me part.”

“Riiiight,” he drawled, “and you never explained that part.”

“Miraak—” I began before Teldryn raised a hand to silence me.

“—wants you dead because you’re the Dragonborn.”

The room went deadly quiet.

“I might have… purposefully omitted that,” I agreed wondering how he had found out. It was one one thing talking about dragons aloud; people did that all the time in Skyrim. But to have someone connect the paths who didn’t believe me in the first place? It was suspicious.

“All those crazy Nord stories, all those legends and all those whispers… and it turns out that it’s some Breton woman who is too pretty to be killing dragons.”

I scoffed. “Come off of it.”

“It seems like you could have told me _that_ much. It’d be nice to know I was running around with a person who is going to attract trouble,” he tried to joke.

I shook my head. “You have to understand, it’s not like this on Skyrim. There are very few people who _don’t_ know who I am; Solstheim was… it wasn’t only to find the man who wants me dead.” The honesty spilling from my mouth was more surprising to me than I’m sure it was to him. Maybe my wound had weakened me more than I realized. “I thought I’d stay in Morrowind for a while, get away from the Holds. I’ve… made more than my fair share of mistakes.” I motioned above us. “Like those guards upstairs. I simply _do not_ care that they are dead. I warned Arano about the dangers. _They_ knew the dangers. But you were quick to act as if their deaths were _entirely_ my fault. Imagine all of Skyrim blaming me for every little thing that went wrong because the Dragonborn is supposed to fix every _gods damned problem_.”

Teldryn grimaced and nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”

“And what have we been through with one another? A few skirmishes but that’s it. But…” I sighed and suddenly deflated. “I suppose you _would_ have found out soon enough. The Skaal Village is now waiting for me. Frea wouldn’t shut up about it.”

His eyes held a thousand questions about that but saved them. “You can trust me, you know?”

“As long as I pay you?” I half-joked.

He smiled at that. “I apologize for shoving your patronage back in your face. You do pay quite well.”

“I can afford to.” I didn’t expand on that thought.

We sat in silence for a little while longer. I couldn’t guess why the new knowledge had angered him so unless someone had also told him about my dealings with Ulfric.

“How’d you find out?” I finally had to know.

He laughed. “Once Geldis found out from those Nords of the _Northern Maiden_ , he wasn’t hard to bribe.”

“Suspicious of me?” I smirked.

“I’m always suspicious of attractive women who talk about dragons in the middle of the night.”

“Would you stop with that? Azura save me, you just won’t let up.”

“I’m jesting with you,” he elbowed me gently. “You’re as ugly as a spriggon, maybe a hargraven. I’m just sparing your feelings.”

“Very funny,” I said and pointed to my chest. “You’ve seen these scars?”

Arching an eyebrow, Teldryn quipped, “Hadn’t noticed.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re from the first dragon I ever had to take down alone. I was young, stupid and wandering the woods by myself. That was the first time I almost died.” I stopped for a moment. “Knowing I was the Dragonborn anyway.”

“And the almighty Dragonborn couldn’t handle it?”

I shook my head and laughed a little. “Being the Dragonborn isn’t all fun and games and well…” I looked down at my palms. “I wasn’t _really_ the Dragonborn then. I ignored the Greybeards calls for a _very_ long time.”

He was silent for a moment, staring ahead at the bodies and the room. “You know, I thought you had interesting stories behind all of your scars.” He flattened his palms as if to show me something. “Lo and behold, you do.”

I laughed. “Wrong again.”

“Sure, sure,” he smiled widely and I felt a little more at ease. “I just wish you would trust me a little more. It seems like having one person on this island to watch your arse might be helpful.”

“And you think you’re it?” I asked seriously.

“Have you seen me fight? I’m the best swordsman in Morrowind,” he boasted before laughing, “And of course there _are_ my skills in the bedroom.”

I hit him hard in the arm. He responded with more laughter.

* * *

 

            I was getting bored listening to Arano droll on and on about the Ulen affair. Teldryn and I were being forced to watch Arano take all the credit for all of our hard work. After I informed him about the two dead Redoran guards he wasn’t as disappointed as I thought he’d be. If it weren’t for Teldryn’s insistence on burning their bodies out of respect, they would have been left out to rot. Arano was more concerned about Morvayn than what became of their remains.

            He approached the throne so close that there was barely an arm’s length between the two of them. “Excuse me, Councilor Morvayn? I have some wonderful news.”

            Morvayn sat on his throne, slumped and with his head lazily resting against fist. “Adril... I haven't seen a smile on your face like that in a long time.”

            I heard Teldryn snicker beside me and I had to stifle a laugh as well. We both acted as if we were clearing our throats.

            “This visitor has single-handedly dealt with a threat that could have ended your life. Vendil, Tilisu and Mirri Severin weren't who they appeared to be. I'm afraid they were here to avenge Vilur Ulen's death.”

            I was a little shocked to hear him give me due credit; even more than hearing him address me as a visitor rather than an Outlander. Maybe I had underestimated Arano.

            “Vendil? But he's done so much for Raven Rock... how could this be possible?” Morvayn sat a little straighter, his eyes now fully alert and his full attention on the gravity of Arano’s words.

            “They did it to gain our confidence, Councilor. They had us all fooled. I should have been more vigilant.” Arano looked genuinely apologetic and ashamed. “I'm sorry.”

            Morvayn stood up and laid a hand upon Arano’s shoulder. “Don't say that. It's not your fault, old friend.” He looked to me and motioned for me to come forward. I did so with little enthusiasm. “What you've done for me—for all of Raven Rock—goes _far_ beyond what I would have expected from a traveler to our town. For this, you have my deepest gratitude.” He grabbed my hand and placed within it a small key. “Now. I'm certain Adril was prepared to reward you appropriately for everything you've done.

However, since a bit of coin hardly seems like enough, I've decided to provide something more substantial. Since the Severin family—or whoever they were—turned out to be criminals, their property is now forfeit. As Councilor, I hereby award you Severin Manor and everything contained within. You've earned your citizenship here, and I hope you'll consider staying with us as a member of our community.”

It wasn’t the first time I had been given a house for some asinine tasks around a province: Breezehome was evidence of the Jarl throwing me an unwanted piece of property that needed to be filled under the guise of gratitude but this? I was just welcomed by the most stereotypically _un_ welcoming group of people. A group of people who had no idea I was the Dragonborn, save for Teldryn and Geldis. They weren’t expecting more from me but thanking me for what I had done for the community which, if I were to take his words seriously, was now _mine_.

“I… uh…” I glanced down at the key in my hands. I meant what I said when I told him, “Thank you. I’m truly honored.”

My tongue was useless past that. I was being welcomed for doing something _right_ and not having any repercussions other than praise.

* * *

 

            I emptied out my pouch onto the floor of my new master bedroom. The pile spread wide and deep. Teldryn looked at me like I was mad when I requested, “Help me sort the weapons out from the clothing and the other items.”

            “How do you _carry_ all of _this_?” he waved his hand around to the items that had just clanged to the ground.

            “‘Enchanted pouch’ seems pretty self-explanatory,” I returned. I picked up a shield that was made with glass but outlined in gold. “Where did I find this thing? More importantly, why did I keep it?”

            Teldryn kicked a sword. “Oblivion only knows.” He shook his head, obviously bewildered at the amount of junk I carried around.

            “You look at me like that but I bet I could fetch a nice price for some of this stuff.” I began putting various weapons onto racks and into display cases. “You should try expanding your profits beyond pilfering gold and hiring yourself out. Mercenary life only seems fun when you aren’t worried about where your next meal is coming from.”

            Teldryn shrugged. “I make do.”

            “Maybe one day you could even achieve something as nice as this,” I waved my arms around dramatically. “I have so much space now I can practically run my own bar. I’ll never have to visit the Netch again.”

            “The _Retching_ Netch. But surely you jest,” he tried to sound offended but his voice had a hint of laughter behind it. “I’d never see you save for whenever you decided I was useful.”

            “Oh, well,” I sang, my eyes closed in mock pretentiousness. “It’s not like you couldn’t _beg_ to offer to stay in one of my many spare rooms.”

            “I don’t beg,” he smirked. “Besides, living with my boss? I hear she’s a thorn in the arse.”

            I smiled a little at that. “Well, if you decide your boss isn’t _quite_ so vicious, you’re welcome to keep a room here. At a price, of course.”

            Teldryn walked to where I was taking my armor off and placing it on a mannequin. I was just finishing when he leaned in close and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Well, _do_ tell. You seem to be in a good mood.” The low drawl of his voice and his breath against my skin sent shivers through me.

            Ignoring the feeling, I lightly pulled his hand off me and said, “You reduce your rate by half _and_ stop shamelessly flirting with me.”

            He backed off and chuckled, “Who said I was flirting? I thought I’d made it clear that you looked like a hargraven. And I’ll reduce my rate by a third.”

            I conceded, “Then you’d better get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Teldryn smiled. “Just don’t expect me to feed you.” He frowned but only slightly.

“Suddenly, the Retching Netch is sounding better and better.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably one of my favorite chapters mostly because it was around here that I realized how much I enjoyed Rook--despite her being difficult. Sure, she can be a bit stubborn and argumentative and thoughtless and a whole host of other things, but if you want someone who's going to be resilient and relentless (I use that word purposefully), she's your woman. And it's mostly my headcanon about Dragonborn's being naturally "dragon-like" in personality: a bit hot-headed, ruthless, not terribly diplomatic, and just plain unyielding. Like, it's the soul of a flipping dragon that they're imbued with. That's probably going to have some influence on a person (e.g. a *true* Dragonborn isn't going to be naturally calm and serene unless they've put the time into it like Paarthurnax). 
> 
> Alright then: next chapter will be another Teldryn POV and we'll get to see what he found out from Geldis, his exact thoughts, and why he is so upset in this chapter (I'm not going to skip that, criss cross-applesauce promise on that).
> 
> I also realize that this went up super quick since the last update (yesterday!). I'm trying to update two chapters at a time to really get the completed thing out and done. BUT, super special thanks to SuFin20 who has been so diligent and nice about commenting and giving lots of good feedback. Thank you so much! See you guys next time! - Ash


	10. Teldryn Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes are being moved up for this chapter to give some orientation to the time frame. This interlude picks up right after the end of chapter 8 and gives some insight into events between chapters 8 and 9 and Teldryn's POV to the end of 9. Major edits to this were some dialogue issues, action scene issues, and establishing Teldryn's knowledge of the Dragonborn (as later stories will reveal that he lived in Skyrim for a bit of time). My head canon about Heroes in TES universe is that while the region they're helping knows who they are and respect them, other territories regard the rumors they might hear as complete bunk or think there's exaggeration. The Nerevarine is revered by Dunmer but I'm pretty sure Nords would think that's a bunch of elvish blather. Same goes for the Hero of Skyrim--the Dragonborn. While the Red Year definitely occurred, the circumstances surrounding it aren't entirely clear (conflicting reports). While the Dragon Crisis was going on, dragons are DEFINITELY around, the Dragonborn goes to Sovngarde alone. It's not like everyone's tweeting about these sorts of things. A lot of history is passed down through oral tradition and while some of it gets written down, the uncertainty of what "really" happened plays a big part in my canon for the Hero, Event, Prophecy series. 
> 
> Shout outs to all of the guests who've left kudos (they really make my day!) and super, duper, special thanks to SuFin20 and praeenut for their encouraging words and super generous praise. Thanks, guys!
> 
> Whew! Enough rambling. Next time we'll be in the Skaal Village. See you then and thanks for reading! -Ash

As I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but smile a little to myself. Maybe I’d actually earned some of her trust and she’d start relying on me more, giving me more responsibilities past the ridiculous work that was beneath me. Maybe I _was_ devoid of many scruples but I was proud of my job; I was the best spellsword in Morrowind, damn me. Of course, that thought only made me smile wider. I missed my brother.

            I sat at the bar, hoping to get more out of Geldis. Maybe I could find out something that would let us finish this earlier. It was still busy, patrons from around Raven Rock drinking and eating dinner. Out of the corner of my eye I spied Slitter glaring at me; since I wasn’t the one who’d broken his nose, I didn’t imagine he’d give me anything worse than nasty looks.

            “Well, friend, back again?” Geldis asked, giving Drovas another tray of ale and sujamma. “I’d thought you’d be lyin’ low after that little scene with Slitter.”

            I grabbed a flagon of sujamma and drank deeply. “I’ve got better things to do than to pick petty fights. If Slitter wants to lose a finger or two, I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”

            Geldis chuckled. “Your employer sure did a number on him.”

            “Speaking of which,” I tried changing the subject, “we’re having trouble catching our friend who’s leaving ash yam offerings in the tomb.”

            “Ah, I see. Business is it then?”

            “When you’ve spent the last few nights huddled in a cold, dark tomb you begin to wonder if you’ve been misled.”

            “When did you ever disagree to being ‘huddled’ next to a lady?” When I shook my head, Geldis quickly waved a hand at me, dismissing my allegations. “ _Sera_ , I’ve no motivation to be deceiving anyone. Might be whoever was doing so is laying low, might’ve heard talk. Look around.” He motioned to the still-crowded bar. “If you two wanted privacy you might have taken it to a bedroom.”

            At the hint of the suggestion in his voice I laughed a little. I thought of Rook’s wild, dark hair framing her face as she reddened when I’d touched her cheek. The thought of us alone like that for longer than a couple of minutes made my pulse quicken slightly. “I’d love to hear you say that to _her_ ,” I challenged.

            “Oh, ho _noooo_ ,” he quickly disagreed. “I’m not looking to get Slitter’s treatment. Either way I’d suggest waiting a couple of days before staking out the tomb again. Surely whoever’s been hidin’ from you will come out then.”

            “Thanks,” I said as I took another sip of sujamma.

            Geldis sat and wiped off the bar for a while before asking, “So, how’s the work?”

            “It’s a nice change from sitting around and escorting people to and from places on the island but not as satisfying as I’d hoped.” I glanced in the flagon, swirled it around before taking another drink.

            “Never been much of an adventuring type myself. Always found that if I stayed in one place people are more likely to receive me,” he smiled. “And people never say no to a bit of drink… or information.”

            I raised my eyebrow, interested in his implication. “And you happen to have some useful information?”

            “Mayhap.”

            “You’ve been helpful enough with this Ulen matter so I suppose I’ll bite. What do you have?” Geldis usually had a tidbit or two that worked in my favor more often than not.

            “Aaaah. Well,” he rubbed the thumb of one hand across the pads of his fingers repeatedly. “This information is quite _valuable_.”

            Rolling my eyes I began to dig in my pouch. “Shall we call it fifty?”

            “I believe we shall,” he smiled. I plopped a tiny bag of coins onto the counter and he slid it expertly from the bar to his other hand, eventually hiding it underneath the bar top.

            “Well, out with it.” I twirled a finger around.           

            He leaned in close. “Don’t go ‘round tellin’ anyone this but I’ve heard whispers that Skyrim’s own savior has come to fix this problem we’ve been havin’,” he lowered his voice. “The problem with people walkin’ off and buildin’ that thing outside of town.”

            “Skyrim’s savior?” I took another drink of sujamma before I realized who he meant. “The Dragonborn? Place like that needs at least _two._ Aren’t they still embroiled in a civil war with the Empire or something like that?”

            Geldis shook his head. “That bloody business is over, has been for about a month now.” He thought about what he said and added, “More or less. There are still some problems but for the most part Ulfric Stormcloak won.”

            “That bigoted fool? How did he manage to pull that off?” I was genuinely curious now; I’d always saw him as a fool-hardy, stubborn Nord but that was the least of his shortcomings. Ulfric forced all of the Dunmer and Argonians to live tucked away in the Grey Quarter or the outskirts of Windhelm. He was happy to help a fellow Nord but ignored any others who needed his help. Needless to say, I didn’t have a high opinion of him. But I’d heard all the rumors about the Dragonborn while living in Skyrim, Windhelm especially. Apparently, I left to settle in Solstheim right before his appearance. I could only imagine the man now: a loud and large Nord who prayed daily to Talos.

            “Weren’t you listening? Ulfric had the Dragonborn on his side. I’ve heard that he’s more powerful than your ordinary warrior and somehow the rebellion got a hold of him.” He paused to let that set in. “And now he’s here.”

            I was a little skeptical but mostly tired. I yawned, my mind too slow and still a bit drunk. “ _Suuuure_. The mythical man/dragon has come to save the dark elves. I’ll believe it when I see it.” I finished off my sujamma. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room.”

            He nodded and I left to see if I could catch a small nap. I laid on my bed, stared at the ceiling. I’d promised Rook to wake her and I had a feeling she’d sleep all day if I didn’t; she always looked and sounded like she hadn’t slept in years. My mind continued to wander and I couldn’t find sleep. Something about Geldis’s words hadn’t quite reached me and I couldn’t determine if what I had missed was important or not. I was too drunk and too tired. Maybe I would ask Rook about it. She had just arrived as well. It was very possible that she had traveled with the Dragonborn from Skyrim. I rolled over and allowed myself to think about how ragged Rook’s scar had been under her eye and how smooth the skin around it felt.

* * *

 

            We had been sitting in the dark tomb for a few hours. Rook was trying to explain to me how she ended up with a dead man for a shade. She’d told me she _had_ studied at the College of Winterhold but didn’t divulge any details beyond having been there. She was drawing the diagram of some Dwemer device into the ash.

            “So, Arniel had me gathering these parts for something he called a _convector_ ,” she flipped her hands into the air. “This is what it looked like but Oblivion if I know how it worked.”

            “Sounds like a typical mage of Winterhold; always poking their nose in things they shouldn’t.”

            Her voice deadpanned. “You have no idea.” Wiping the drawing from the ash she continued, “He then had me find _every_ known Dwemer convector ruin so he could account for heat or something. That meant I had to trudge through snowstorms to cast a novice fire spell that was absolutely useless except on the convectors.”

            I laughed. ‘That sounds _exactly_ like a mage. Creating useless junk.”

            “Says the man who uses his atronach continuously.” She sounded a little irritated at my poking fun at the College and its attendants. Strangely, Rook seemed a little attached to the memories from the place.

            “Atronachs aren’t _creations_ , they’re summoned creatures. Creatures that already exist and, when summoned, create forms on this plane,” I explained. “ _Completely_ different.”

            “Yes, yes,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Either way, after _all_ of that I had to go get some knife which he used to slash at a soul gem until… _poof!_ ” she wiped at the ash so that a small cloud stirred up, “No more Arniel.”

            I smiled a little. “You know, you’re doing a great job at respecting the ancestors that are resting here.”

            Rook took a hand and wiped it on her cape. “Yes, well, I try not to think about which ash is from the Red Mountain and which is _dead Dunmer_.”

            We both sat back against a wall, legs outstretched. “Your turn,” she said.

            “My turn what?” I teased, knowing what she wanted.

            “I give you this _great_ story of harrowing and intrigue and you’re supposed to give one back.”

            I snorted. “I hardly think helping kill a man to be forever at your beck and call is what I’d called a great story.”

            “I give up then,” she conceded. She yawned. “If I have to do this another night, I’m going to go mad.”

            “You and me both,” I took out my sword and began to polish it with a clean, soft cloth. “This isn’t exactly my idea of fun either.”

            She pulled out her timepiece and sighed. “It’s almost daybreak. We’ve been here long enough.” Rook pulled herself up and dusted herself off. “You can wait if you’d like but I’m going back to the Netch.”

            “Retching Netch,” I corrected.

            “Right, right. The _Retching_ Netch,” she stretched her arms upwards. “You people here sure are touchy about that.”

            I followed her lead. “A netch isn’t very exciting. A _retching_ netch however is quite the tale.”       

            As we began our way back to the bar I tried convincing her they were real animals. “Huge!” I widened my arms out and stretched my fingers wide. “Great beasts that tend to stay near the coasts.”

            “Sure, sure,” she pushed my arm closest to her down and yawned again. “By Sithis I am tired of yawning.”

            We trudged past Geldis who waved at us as he swept.

“Do the gods know you evoke their names so often?” I asked her.

            Rook shrugged in response. “I’m sure some of them like knowing I remember they’re there.” We stood outside her door and I offered to see her in. “No, thanks. If there’s anything in there waiting to kill me, I think I can handle it.” I could tell there was a smile behind her voice.

            “ _Fiiine_ ,” I drawled deeply and leaned forward, propping myself up by one forearm. “Don’t blame me when you’re under attack and your paid spellsword is nowhere to be found.”

            Before the door closed behind her I heard her comment, “At this rate, I’m more apt to _sleep_ with the first man I find in my room than _kill_ him.”

            The door closed and I was left with nothing but heat in my cheeks. It was becoming slightly intolerable the way Rook kept mentioning that. As I walked back to my own room to get some sleep, I had to suppress the impulse to turn around and knock on her door. It wasn’t as if I regularly found a bed partner on Solstheim either. Over the years, I’d gone to bed with a patron or two but it had been a _long_ while since I’d rolled around with a woman. Men were fine but very few kept my interest in bed for long.

I passed by Geldis and waved again. “Have Drovas wake me at sunset.” I flipped him another coin.

            “Will do,” he caught it and bid me a good sleep.

* * *

 

            We found Tilisu Severin two nights later leaving an ash yam at the altar of an ash pile.

            “Well, good evening,” Rook greeted casually as she stepped out from the shadows. I imagined Tilisu was scared witless; watching Rook move in the dark was mesmerizing. It was like she wasn’t even there. That armor of hers absorbed all light and sound and she was soft on her feet. From somewhere unknown I wondered if she was just as silent in bed. I quickly dispelled the thought from my mind. I was no stranger to sleeping with patrons but _this one_ was just… I couldn’t put my finger on it but I knew that it probably wasn’t a wise idea to even entertain those kinds of notions.

            “Oh, excuse me! I didn't realize there was anyone else here,” Tilisu’s surprise sounded genuine but her innocence manufactured.

            “Uh huh,” Rook continued. “So why are you _here_?”

            “Well I presume the same reason _you’re_ here,” Tilisu snapped back.

            “We’re honoring the Ulens, of course,” Rook offered. It wasn’t the most elegant of excuses but it sounded half-way believable.

            Tilisu didn’t look convinced. “An Outlander. Honoring Dunmer dead. Yes.”

            I stepped forward, “I’m trying to teach her our traditions so she can properly respect the Dunmer.” Rook nodded and I added, “She’s been horribly disrespectful. You know. _Outlanders_ ,” I then felt her gaze bore through my helm and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.

            Tilisu slowly said, “Well, yes. Since there aren't any Ulens left on this island, I've taken it upon myself to leave the traditional offering in their stead. Very respectful of you to consider them as well.”

            Rook opened her palms outward and started toward the exit. “We’ll let you get to it then.” She motioned for me to follow and we left to see Arano.

* * *

 

            I was feeling satisfied with the work we’d done so far and now it looked like it was nearing an end. After telling Arano we’d found Tilisu leaving the ash yams in the tomb, he asked us to find hard evidence that someone was threatening Morvayn’s life and we had. It cost a few lives, but he seemed uninterested in the losses. Now all we had to do was set out to Ashfallow Citadel to finish the job. It didn’t sound like much work; we’d provide support for Arano’s guards and end up with some easy money.

            Rook had decided to turn in early but I was elated that we were almost finished. I was drinking upstairs, talking with Drovas about his work when Geldis came up to check on him.

            “Teldryn, didn’t expect you to be up this late. Don’t you and your… employer have somewhere to be tomorrow morning?”

            I grinned as I took another swig of the sujamma. “Nothing to concern yourself over. We have the easy job.”   

            Geldis asked Drovas something about the stew he was making and gave him a few more instructions. He turned back to me, “Easy job, huh?”

            “ _Very_.”

            He sat down at the other side of the table I was at. “So, would it be improprietous of me to ask what she looks like under her mask?”

            I shrugged. “I can’t say much.” I knocked on my helm. “I don’t take mine off either.”

            “No judgements,” Geldis clarified. “I’m genuinely curious. You must’ve seen her without it.” His smile grew mischievously. “You _have_ visited her rooms some nights. I only assumed that you and her were…” he winked at me. “…sharing a bed?”

             I coughed on sujamma, half choking. As soon as I found my breath I corrected him, “Nothing like that.” I let that hang in the air between us for a moment before expanding, “But I think she’s quite pretty for a Man.”

            “ _You_ would.” Geldis smirked and then mused, “She’s not a Nord. Imperial?”

            “Breton. But she must be from _old, old_ blood. Has these ears that don’t quite belong to any Man but they aren’t completely Merish either. It’s cute.”

            Geldis rolled his eyes. “Bretons aren’t known for getting their hands dirty. She must let you do all the work.”

            “No,” I quickly disagreed. “You should see her fight. You’d almost think she _was_ a Nord. She’s got the scars to prove it,” I waved down from the top of my head downward. “From top to bottom she’s got a few things to boast about.”

            Geldis couldn’t stop smiling, “Well, someone’s smitten.”

            I dismissed him. “You’d be impressed too if you watched her fight.” I motioned diagonally from my right shoulder down my chest. “She’s got a nasty looking set of scars that are bigger than _anything_ I’ve ever seen. What with all the talk about dragons in Skyrim, you’d think she had a run in with one of those.”

            “Speaking of which,” Geldis interrupted. “I wanted to share with you some more whispers from around the island.”

            “I refuse to pay for a word,” I declined.

            “Oh, free of charge,” he offered. “Consider it a continuation of the other night’s payment.”

            It took me a second to remember what he was talking about because I’d forgotten it in my drunken haze. “Out with it then.”

            “People are coming around, saying they’re hearing the shouts of dragons.”

            I laughed a little, “It’s funny you should say that,” I took the last swig of sujamma I had. “Rook said something similar a few days ago. Said there were dragons on Morrowind but I didn’t believe it. Guess I owe her an apology.”

            Geldis frowned and went to say something but closed his mouth quickly. “Well, I’m sure she’s used to having to watch out for those sorts of things.” It sounded like he was talking around something but I ignored it.

            “Sure,” I agreed and he bid me a good night. I put some coin on the table and strolled down to my room. I shut the door behind me and stretched, loosening my muscles.

            I took off my helm and began to unbuckle my armor, feeling it loosen around my torso. I yanked off the chitin gloves and boots and pulled my chest and arm plates from around me. Pulling my tunic over my head, I ran a hand down my side feeling an old scar. Rook might appreciate that story; it was funny now that I wasn’t dying from it.

            I laid in bed, thinking about the scars running down her chest, thinking about how one might come across such a nasty treasure. Geldis made a good point. If the dragons were as big a problem as the rumors made them out to be, Rook could have come across one at some point. If so, it was impressive that she had survived such an ordeal; even more impressive was how willing she was to put herself back into the path of a sword. From the little she had told me, she was here to take care of someone who had put a kill order on her head.

            As soon as I had the thought, something bothered me about it. Who had she said was trying to kill her? _Someone named Miraak, I’m certain of it._ Miraak was an odd enough name but she hadn’t told me much about him. After coming back from his temple, she’d been enraged at something.

            _“I don’t know what they want from me but I can tell you there’re going to be dragons involved.”_

And I had protested or said something to dismiss her.

_“—now they’re on Morrowind. In addition to that there’s a former, thousands of years old Dragonborn, dragon priest who’s obsessed with coming back to this plane to take back control of Solstheim.”_

And I remembered being a little dumbstruck at her words.

 _“Just so you know, I’m going to have to take care of_ that _problem at some point.”_

            That was how that conversation went, wasn’t it? I turned, restless. Something nagging at me. The first day we’d gone out with one another she’d talked to Neloth. What did he say about it? Something about Miraak being the source of the problem.

            I laid flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. “Miraak’s the Dragonborn she was talking about,” I realized. A Dragonborn was out to kill her. And Geldis said that Skyrim’s very own hero was here to stop Miraak. “Is the Dragonborn here to save her as well?” That didn’t sound right; Rook was a tenacious fighter, someone who had obviously fought her fair share of battles and lived. The realization hit me like a ton of ingot. The thing Geldis seemed to talk around.

            It was her.

            _Rook_ was the Dragonborn.

* * *

 

            My anger didn’t really settle in one place. At first I was frustrated that Rook didn’t take Arano’s job seriously and I suddenly became enflamed that she looked so unflustered by my obvious irritation. But there was something else as well that I couldn’t quite place. As we rushed out to the citadel our only conversation ended up with us at each other’s throats. My heart fell as we saw the two guards. Arano had sent dead at the entrance. As Rook stepped over their bodies, I could feel a quiet rage build inside me. What were dead elves to her? An inconvenience, apparently.

            What Geldis had said, about the Dragonborn helping Ulfric Stormcloak. That was _her_. The thought tore at me as I tried to swallow it down; it was useless. Every step we took with me behind her seemed to anger me further. All those years I had spent living in Windhelm in the Grey Quarter came rushing back to me and all I could think was, “ _She_ is in league with Ulfric Stormcloak."

            She didn’t talk to me except to ask to pull a few chains here and there. I pulled and I followed and I fought and I tried to put the issue out of my mind but it all came to a head when she nonchalantly asked me if I need a potion. I wasn’t even _that_ upset that the guards had been killed. She was right, they laid down their lives in service of Morvayn and they didn’t quite rise to the challenge. Despite that, my anger wouldn’t dissipate. So as to focus it, I forged ahead recklessly and went to take on Vendil myself.

            Which turned out to be a mistake.  

            An arrow flew off my helm. It wasn’t the first arrow to ever have glanced off of me but it distracted me enough to allow Vendil to come flying at me. There was at least half a score of other Morag Tong assassins who were shooting arrows and swinging at me as well; as soon as I summoned my atronach, it was killed. One dagger caught deep in the meat of my sword arm and I hissed at the pain, swinging in retaliation.

            Another arrow flew past my face and when I looked to find its origins, I surprisingly found Rook loosing arrow after arrow. Surely, she wasn’t concerned about me. I was worse than a mercenary. I was a _Dunmer_ mercenary. Even more expendable.

            Vendil came in fast from one side and I felt myself step back but not in time; his daggers struck deep into my other shoulder and I stumbled, falling to one knee. Just as he was about to bring down a finishing blow, Rook’s sword swung out and then her body blocked mine from the attack.

            Even with one arm straining to keep Vendil back with her sword, one of Rook’s hands flew out to touch my arm. Vendil sneered at her and obviously gave her the incentive she needed to push him back. Still on my knee, breath ragged, I saw only parts. She swung, he swung. Rook flew upward once, one hand pushing up on her hilt to drive the blade up through his chin. Then she staggered slightly, one hand clutching her abdomen.

            Rook staggered. She collapsed.

            Her eyes looked a little glossy as she spit out, “ _You’re welcome_ ,” to me.

            And I didn’t know what to do. I ran to her, stuttered something out. Blood was oozing from between her fingers with each breath she exhaled.

            “I don’t know how to heal others,” I said stupidly. As if such a spell would work on a wound such as this. Rook was a dead woman.

            She writhed, cramped in pain and arched her back. Both her hands stayed clamped over the gushing wound, more blood spilling out onto the floor. Finally she groaned, “Help me up.”

            I wasn’t going to and almost told her to lie down but she shot me a look that said she’d make sure I’d die if I didn’t. So I obliged Rook. She stumbled and staggered and then leaned up against a wall. Her breath was shallow. I tried to give her some comfort and put my hand on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be standing up,” I advised quietly.

            There was no way she _hadn’t_ heard me but ignored me. Instead I watched as a healing spell began to sink into the wound. There was a moment when I thought about telling her that simple healing magic wasn’t going to cut it until I saw the spell envelope both of us. I blinked and my former wounds dully ached but nothing more. Grand healing was something I had seen a few times but I didn’t have the talent for it myself. Not only had she kept being the Dragonborn from me but also her skill with magic. What other secrets did she keep?

            When Rook finished, she slumped to the ground and instantly fell asleep. I didn’t dare wake her. Instead my legs folded underneath as I sat beside her. It occurred to me that Rook had saved my life; I wasn’t so certain that she would be in leagues with the sentiments in Windhelm if she was willing to throw herself in front of a sword for a Mer. A hire at that. I sighed.

            “Wonderful. A complicated patron.”

            Her body rose and fell slowly. She softly snored but didn’t stir. I’d never seen her so still, it was a bit unnerving. As much as she probably needed the rest, this probably wasn’t the best place for it. I reached out to gently grab her shoulder and shake it.

            “Rook?” My throat felt raw. My voice came out in unsteady sounds. “Are you able to move?”

            Nothing. So I shook a bit harder.

            “Rook. Come now. Are you alright?”

            At that she stirred, curling into herself at first and wincing. Her weary eyes met mine.

            “I’m alive” she assured.


	11. Burnt

“Suddenly, the ash doesn’t seem so bad,” I grumbled. Teldryn and I hiked up a trail he believed to be the way to the Skaal Village.

            “Weren’t you the one who was raised in Skyrim?” He wasn’t sounding happy either. The snow crunched beneath his feet, his armor clinking noisily.

            That was fair enough and I nodded to acknowledge the fact. The wind bit at me, my armor and gear providing little resistance to the bitter cold blowing snow and ice around us. This sort of weather reminded me of too many harsh and lonely years. “Not all of Skyrim is an icy wasteland,” I pointed out.

            Teldryn conceded, “I suppose you’re right but I lived in Windhelm for years. Nothing but an ice wasteland as far as the eye can see.”

            I tried to ignore the way he emphasized the word _Windhelm_ but my stomach still knotted uncomfortably. Neither of us had brought it up but I was certain that if he knew I was the Dragonborn then he was probably aware of my role in Skyrim’s civil war. It wasn’t a topic I wanted to be the first to broach; I fully acknowledged that I wasn’t a good person but I had _never_ intended to get involved in that mess. The repercussions of what I caused were never far from my thoughts.

            “I’ve never been a fan of Windhelm,” I chose my next words carefully. “Or Ulfric Stormcloak.”

            I was met with silence so I dropped the topic. The trees around us were becoming fuller, denser. Snow capped the tops of the needles clumped in heavy patches, some of it falling under the force of the wind. The upside to climbing upward was the way the air cleared in light of the elevation. The sun always seemed a bit brighter and the clouds fluffed together in thick tufts that gave way to a pale blue sky. I couldn’t feel my fingertips and felt heat on the pads of them where the reddening of mild hypothermia was beginning to set in. My mask was thick but not terribly protective and I felt the same redness settling in my cheeks.

            The path began to darken, the snow-trodden line becoming brown with mud and scattered stones here and there. I could see the beginnings of wooden buildings enlarge in my field of vision. A few minutes later, we were in the thick of the village. With every step I took, Skaal in thick leathers and pelts stared at me. I’m sure Teldryn wasn’t quite the spectacle but I stood out: a dark mar against the pure white snow. My cape whipped around my legs, the snow blowing out from underneath. I hadn’t seen Frea yet but a beam of diffuse green light was coming from the heart of the village. Walking closer I saw three figures kneeling and praying before it. Frea stood behind one of the older men, her face knitted with worry. She looked up and her face brightened.

            “Dragonborn! You’ve come!”

            The older man glanced up as well, his eyes focusing on Frea’s object of attention. I moved closer to them. “Frea,” I acknowledged.

            She beamed widely. “There is yet hope, father! This is the Dragonborn of Skyrim. She will help us surely.”

            This felt all too familiar. I groaned loudly, “Yes, well. I’m here now. You said we should speak to your father?”

            The older man stood up. “I am Storn Crag-Strider, shaman of the Skaal. It is an honor to meet you, Dragonborn.”

            I held up a hand. “Just Rook.”

            “Curious name,” he mused. “Frea has told me that you have seen things, _dark_ things.”

            Frea jumped in, “I told him about your visions of Miraak.”

            “They weren’t just _visions_. I was there,” I corrected. I didn’t look back at Teldryn but I could just feel his gaze narrow on me. I’d been a bit sketchy on the details about what had happened at the temple.

            “I feared that this would be so,” he replied gravely. “But I also fear there is much we do not yet know.”

            “Please,” Frea begged, “tell Storn what happened.”

            Their full attention was on me and I shrugged. “Frea’s already told you.”

            Frea frowned but Storn continued, “So you have seen things, yes? My magic grows weak and so does the barrier around our village. _Time is short_. _Tell me_ what you know.”

            I sighed. “I saw Miraak.”

            “Yes but _how_?”

            “I read a book,” I moved a hand down to my pouch and found the book but then thought better of showing it to Storn just yet. “I read it while in his temple and was transported to… somewhere.”

            Storn nodded sadly. “The one the dragons burned to the ground in a rage… but the legends speak of worse things buried beneath that place.” He placed a fatherly hand on Frea, comforting her. “What I’ve feared has come to pass. Miraak never truly left and now he desires to return.”

            “Yes,” I replied, exasperated. “I figured that was the case when _he told me_.”

            Storn’s look wasn’t a pleasant one. “But you and him are both Dragonborn. A connection.”

            “Are you accusing me of something?” I could feel my blood pressure rising.

            “You could indeed save us… but you could also bring about our destruction.”

            I saw Teldryn shift out of the corner of my eye, obviously a little uneasy at the turn of conversation. I couldn’t imagine what his reaction would have been to all of this had he not found out about me before coming here. “Let’s just say that I am interested in _stopping_ Miraak.”

            “Our time is running out,” he ignored me. “The few of us left free of control cannot protect ourselves for much longer.”

            “So, what do you want me to do?” I was afraid of the answer.

            “You must go to Saering’s Watch,” he kneeled down again and began to pray.

            “And do _what_?” I almost yelled.

            One of his eyes opened in obvious frustration but he patiently explained, “Learn there the word that Miraak learned long ago. Use it on the Wind Stone, cleanse it.” He softened his tone. “Dragonborn, you may be our only hope to break the hold on our people, free them from Miraak’s control.”

            I crossed my arms. “Fine, sounds easy enough.”

            Storn closed his eyes in reverence and released me from the conversation. “All-Maker shelter you.”

            Frea placed a hand on her father’s shoulder and let it linger for a second before turning to us, gently guiding us away. “Thank you, Dragon—I mean, Rook. My people are grateful for your help.”

            “So where is the wall?” I wasn’t thrilled about the news. Word walls never sat unguarded.

            Frea shifted. “It’s about a day’s walk from here. You must be tired though. Let us give you shelter for the night, feed you and your companion. You can set out tomorrow.”

            This was exactly what I _didn’t_ want but the walk back to Raven Rock and then a trip to Saering’s Watch might prove to be more hassle than suffering through a night’s worth of religious ranting. I accepted Frea’s offer and she escorted us to the building behind her father and the other Skaal praying.

            “This is our hut,” she explained. “We Skaal do not have many visitors so we have no inn. I can offer you a warm fire to sleep by and food to fill your belly.”

            Inside the hut was a cramped living area. In the center was a large fire pit where a few pots hung over the flames, delicious-smelling stews brewing inside. Two small bed areas were off to one side, forming a horseshoe layout. Frea went to a chest by one of the beds and came back with two bed rolls. “Here. It’s all I can offer but you are welcome to stay by the fire.”

            “Thanks,” I said as I took a bedroll. Teldryn wordlessly took the other and we unfurled them side by side.

            “Please, help yourself to some food,” Frea offered. “I must tend to my father. He is… weak. His strength is faltering and we need his magic to sustain the barrier.” She looked at me. “Please, excuse me.”

            As she left, Teldryn and I took off our headgear. I watched him take in the shaman’s hut and commented, “Isn’t this quaint?”

            Teldryn sat back on his forearms and asked, “Do you get this kind of treatment often?”

            “Only when people expect me to save them from certain doom,” I answered. I ran my fingers through my hair. “Which happens more often than you’d think.”

            He smiled and patted me on the back. “Cheer up. We have free food.”

            “Always looking on the bright side,” I grabbed a bowl and ladled a big scoop of rabbit stew. I shoved a spoonful into my mouth and savored the tender, gamey taste of the meat. “Sweet Oblivion, I’m famished.”

            Teldryn reached across me and grabbed a bowl as well. “I didn’t quite get what the old man was asking you to do.”

            I continued shoveling food into my mouth and replied, “Ish uh wor waw,” I swallowed the thick chunk of rabbit I had been chewing. “A word wall,” I clarified. “You’d also be surprised how many times someone wants me to find one of those things.”

            “A wall of words, I presume?” he arched a brow in obvious sarcasm.

            “Good guess, but a little more complicated than that. You can’t really _read_ it. Takes a special… _touch_ ,” I stopped eating for a moment to snap my fingers to emphasize my point.

            “So, you do… whatever… with this wall and that’s it?” Teldryn seemed more interested than I would have imagined him to be. “You didn’t sound too pleased about it earlier.”

            I winced a little at the honesty, “I _might_ be exaggerating about how easy it’s going to be.” I put away my bowl and began to shrug my armor off.

            “Oh, _gooooood_ ,” drawled Teldryn. “I was really hoping that not everything with you was going to be staking out ash pits in the middle of the night.”        

            “Yeah, this is what I would describe as an _escalation_ from that.”

            Teldryn laughed, “Is this where the dragons come in?”

            I began to slip into the bedroll and settle into a comfortable position. He had been joking but I replied seriously, “If we’re lucky, it’ll be only one. As someone once told me, ‘It ain’t skeever hunting.’”

* * *

 

            I woke up suddenly, no warning or cause. The fire was crackling softly in front of me and Teldryn was sleeping soundly on the other side of me. I couldn’t fathom how he was comfortable with most of his armor still on. I slipped from the bedroll and sat near the fire, my legs drawn up to my chest. The hot coals burned brightly in a spectrum of soft oranges, reds, and whites. The heat was almost uncomfortable and I could feel the beginnings of perspiration threatening to break out. I reached for my pouch and pulled out my journal; the thick pages were bulging, sticking out here and there. I flipped through it absentmindedly, glancing at notes I no longer found useful.

            One page caught my eye and flipped back to it. I rubbed the page thoughtfully with the pad of my index finger. It was all the notes I’d taken when I was studying with Paarthurnax; jagged edges were printed from corner to corner of the book. I hadn’t so much written down the words because I would forget them but so that I could have physical documentation of them—Dragon tongue didn’t exactly excite scholars the way other subjects did so if there were books on the subject, I’d never heard of them. Being Dragonborn meant being able to effortlessly learn _Thu’ums_ ; Ulfric and other Nords had taken years and years of their lives to study diligently with the Greybeards. I learned a Thu’um simply by being in its presence. I suspected it was another reason why Ulfric did all he could to make my life miserable. Not that it was the _only_ one.

            I shoved the book back into my pouch and stood up. Taking care to not wake Teldryn or Frea, I tiptoed to the door and opened it slowly. I placed a barefoot into freezing, slush-like snow and closed the door behind me. After the oppressive heat of the hut, the cold mountain air was a welcome relief. The three Skaal who had been praying and meditating before were still doing so, Frea’s father included. They seemed not to notice me so I strolled around to the back of the hut and walked down a bit until I could see over the edge of the mountain.

            Carefully I worked my way down to a large piece of rock jutting out creating a safe precipice for me to rest upon. From here, night on Solstheim was beautiful. Thousands of stars glittered down in thick and thin waves while Masser and Secunda seemed to hang by delicate threads. The moons weren’t quite as large as they had been in Skyrim but they were both quite visible and close, so close at times that it was almost as if I could rub the blurry red onto the brilliant white. Neither were fully whole but there was enough light in the sky that the sea below reflected their shape, distorted on the gentle waves. The blackened waters around the shapes and light reflected nothing and gave no hint at their contents.

            I swung my legs freely over the edge, paying little attention to the height that I was sitting at. I pulled out my timepiece. Almost time for dawn to break. I picked up a couple of stray pebbles and threw them into the calm sea, my mind empty. I couldn’t remember the last time I had allowed myself to be no one from nowhere with nothing to do. I vaguely recalled that I would tell my mother that I wanted to be a merchant and she had laughed telling me something about how I never knew how to use my words properly for that kind of profession.

I suppose it was ironic that my life ended up being defined by the words I could learn and use that others had to struggle for.

            The sun had just begun to break over the horizon, the thin lines of light wavy and dispersed over the waters. I could now see a few small islands in the distance. The sky changed from dark violet-blue to a hazy grey with shades of pink blended in. Then I heard something. If I had been anyone else, I might have mistaken it for the low rumble of the tide but it was too distinct: a dragon. I was skilled enough to know whether it was an immediate threat or not but the wind was making it hard to tell from this height. I rose to my feet with a hand to my ear. I closed my eyes, trying to discern if the shout was coming toward or going away. My heartbeat quickened and my stomach dropped. I scrambled back up toward the village frantically, the snow in between my toes numbing the pads of my feet.

“DRAGON!” I yelled, coming upon the praying Skaal. They glanced at me but continued to pray as I yanked open the door to the hut. “Wake up, WAKE UP!” I practically jumped over the fire as both Teldryn and Frea sat straight up, looking bewildered. “A dragon!”

            Frea became frantic. “Are you certain?” She was hastily pulling on her armor as I grabbed only my sword. I didn’t bother to answer her as I rushed back out the door. I was the gods damned Dragonborn. If anyone knew when a dragon was near, it was _me._

            Villagers popped out of their huts to see what the commotion was about, a child included. “You idiots!” I admonished. “Get everyone inside now! There’s a dragon coming!” People immediately rushed back inside; some were screaming and others simply slammed their doors shut.

            The cold no longer registered to my body, my adrenaline rushing wildly and heating my core. Teldryn and Frea both came up beside me. Frea glanced at me, “Are you mad? Where’s your armor?”

            I brushed her off. “No time.” Looking around, I waved to the Skaal who were volunteering to fight. “If you’re not ready to lay down your lives today then you need to get your arse back inside. Tend to your families.” The dragons’s shout was getting closer.

            “Dragons, eh?” Teldryn casually commented as he pulled out his sword and summoned an atronach. “Good. I was looking for a challenge.”

            “Don’t be so cocky, Sero,” I snapped at him.

            I could hear Frea worry, “My father and the others. If they stop praying then the barrier over the village will be lost; we will be slaves to Miraak.”

            “ _Then protect them_ ,” I growled, irritated. “Teldryn. When I give you the signal it is _extremely_ important that you engage the dragon from the side. _Do not_ get near the mouth or tail unless you feel like losing some limbs. Distract it.”

            He nodded. “Got it.”

            “We’ll only have a few seconds after it lands to make this count. Use bows and arrows when you can,” I directed to Frea. Suddenly, the dragon’s shadow loomed over us from behind the shaman’s hut, its wings pushing a torrent of air in our direction. I dug my heels in as Teldryn braced himself.

            It flapped its leathery wings a few more times, suspending itself in the air before taking a breath. “ _FO KRAH_ …” it began.

            Before it could finish I reared back, balled my fists and let loose the knowledge of mortality. “ _JOOR… ZAH FRUL_!”

            Rending a dragon mortal temporarily wasn’t easy; as long as I aimed correctly, the words would reach to his soul, crippling him with the knowledge I’d given. The hard part was making sure I didn’t get killed when it landed somewhere unexpectedly. Luckily, this one flew over us for a moment before gliding to a spot in the center of the village. Each of my steps running toward the beast were carefully placed, a concert of coordination. I felt Teldryn’s atronach rush past me in a blaze of heat and light. The dragon snapped at both it and me as I saw Teldryn rush to its side.

            I dodge the first snap of its mouth but the second one caught the edge of my sword. I slid it out easily, wounding it in a minor way. It cried out and raised a giant claw, intending to come down and knock me over. I took advantage of the moment that it failed to do so to hook my leg over one of its horny protrusions and swung my body around over its snout. Feeling me on its head, it began to buck back and forth wildly. Several arrows narrowly missed me as I attempted to regain control over my balance. My unprotected feet were scraping painfully against its thick skin and my hands were slipping without any gloves.

            From my vantage point I could see Teldryn summon another atronach and dig his sword into its scales. The great beast screamed out as I continued to try and find an opportune moment to attack. It flung itself forward and I nearly fell over, the protrusions cutting into my arms, blood running down my hands. As my grip weakened, I took the last moment to swing my sword upward and brought it down to stab the dragon’s eye. Thicker than I’d expected, it gave me more leverage. It bucked and shouted even more wildly as I drove my sword in deeper. The thick vitreous fluid and blood from its eye now covered most of me and my clothing, sticky and slimy.

            With one final swing of his head, it hurled my body off sideways. My sword was still stuck in his eye. The world rushed by me in a white blur until my body hit a wooden support beam hard. No time to feel pain. Plenty of time for suffering later. I scrambled to all fours, taking note that both Teldryn and Frea had fallen back and were shooting arrows at the dragon. It lifted its wings up weakly. I dragged myself up using the beam to aid me and took heavy, clumsy steps toward the beast. I pulled my arms back with clenched fists as I screamed out again, “ _JOOR… ZAH FRUL_!”

            The shout stunned it and kept it down again. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand; I couldn’t tell which blood was mine and which was the dragon’s anymore but I _could_ tell my mouth was filling with the bitter iron taste of my own blood. The dragon now had a few dozen arrows dotted into its body. It was becoming harder to focus my eyes but I was able to weakly shout, “ _YOL…toor_!” Bright fire whirled around me as I released fire bolts with one hand and attempted to heal myself with another. The only arrows flying now were coming from a few stragglers near the edge of the village.

            I loosed one more fire bolt before realizing I had weakened my magicka link to the point there was nothing to hold onto. I cursed at myself. The dragon was weakening but it wasn’t quite near dead enough for my liking. I wildly looked around and rushed toward Frea’s side.

            “Dragonborn?” she was down on one knee and breathing heavily. She must have gotten too close to the tail while it had been swinging around, her armor dented in characteristic ways. “I…”

            “Save it,” I replied curtly as I quickly dropped to retrieve her bow. I pushed her down as I ripped the quiver from her back and swung it around myself. The arrows were of poor quality but I was able to meet my target nicely. I loosed an arrow into the same eye my sword was left in and another into its belly as it reared up. I saw more fire bolts flying from the opposite direction, Teldryn doing his best to contribute. I swallowed and hoped I was ready to shout again. I threw the bow and gave one last shout. “ _KRII… LUN AUS_!”

            The dragon gave one final shout as it fell to its side. The weight of its body caused the ground beneath my feet to quake. Whatever balance I had was lost; I fell to my hands and knees. The snow around me was marred with my own blood as well as the dragon’s. I allowed myself to roll onto my back and stare up at the sky as I waited for the dragon’s soul to unwind from its body. Closing my eyes I took three deep breaths.

 _One… two…_ I held my breath, waiting for the release of the soul to ensnare me. _Three._ I heard a distinct but low swooshing sound and I exhaled.

            Then… nothing.

            My eyes snapped open and looked at the dragon’s remains upside down. It was now reduced to the bare skeleton, its soul gone and not with me. It might have been my imagination but I thought I heard laughter.

            I rolled back onto my knees and stood up. Stumbling I made my way to the skeleton, arrows, and my sword. All rested on the snowy ground since the flesh that had held all of them were long gone. My hand gently rubbed the jagged, aged skull and I rested my forehead against it. At least three heads taller than me, it was rapidly losing what heat it had. Glancing inside, I sighed at the realization I’d have to practically crawl halfway into the mouth to retrieve my weapon. As my body slid downward inside, the teeth gently scraped against my back. When my hand curled around the hilt, I crouched low to slide out again. Sword back in hand, I stared vacantly into the eyeless skull. _What’s going on?_ I was confused, bewildered. Why hadn’t I been able to absorb the soul?

            A hand gently grasped my shoulder and I flinched. Teldryn, helm under his arm, asked, “Everything alright?” His face knotted in heavy worry, I watched his eyes search my own for answers I might be holding back.

            I shook my head. “Something’s wrong,” I whispered.

            His brow knitted in confusion. “I don’t understand what’s wrong here. The dragon is dead and everyone else came out relatively unscathed.” A moment of silence and then he added, low so no one could hear him, “ _You_ aren’t badly hurt, are you?”

            Again I shook my head. “It’s nothing.” No use worrying about it right now. As far as everyone else here knew or cared, all was well. I wiped my sword on the ground and replied, “I need to clean up.” Ignoring Teldryn’s offer to help me back, my feet dragged me toward the hut. Walking inside I realized how cold I was, the heat instantly melting the painful iciness from my extremities. I dropped my sword by my armor and the metal rang out loudly in the emptiness of the room.

            I allowed myself to sit beside the fire to warm up completely. I examined my arms, legs and feet to find that what little healing I had accomplished hadn’t actually accomplished _much_. Everything was still badly abraised, cut, and scraped. Frea slipped in through the door and gently offered, “I can prepare a bath for you.”

            I nodded and added, “I’m not going to apologize for what happened out there.”

            Frea undid her chest and arm plates allowing her the flexibility and movement to drag out a metal tub; I watched her ready the water. “There is no need. I understand that we were in the heat of battle.” She sounded more than a little frazzled.

            “If it makes you feel any better,” I tried comforting, “that actually went better than it usually does.” I snorted out of amusement, staring at the fire. “Everyone still has all of their limbs.”

            She sat on her bed, our gazes meeting one another. Frea frowned. “Dragonborn, is this the power of your ilk?”

            “I don’t know what you mean,” I began rubbing my arms and dried blood flaked off in thick chunks onto the floor.

            “I was certain that Miraak had limited powers but…” her eyes drew downward. “…if he knows what you know then he is more dangerous I could have ever imagined.” She took a fist and brought it down on her bed. Through gritted teeth and closed eyes, she sighed, “I have been naïve thinking that you alone could save us.”

            Snapping my gaze to lock onto her, my nostrils flared. “I hate to break this to you,” I growled. “But I’m not here to save the Skaal or Solstheim. If stopping Miraak results in those events then _fine_. I’m here to do _one_ thing: kill the bastard.” I shot up and went to check the water. “Go and help clean up the remains,” I ordered, waving her away. “I’d like to clean up.”

* * *

 

            I’m not sure how clean I was considering once I finished the washtub was just as red and bloody as I had been. I wrapped myself in the thick pelt of a large animal, swaddling myself in the warmth. As my feet met with the cold stone, dark imprints of my steps followed me. Bending down to reach for my pouch, I grabbed the men’s dressing gown I had taken from the Retching Netch. I pulled it over me and crawled into the bedroll. As I turned on my side, I heard the door creak.

            “Are you decent?” I heard Teldryn ask.

            I threw up a hand and waved it weakly to motion him in. Exhausted I mumbled, “I’m never decent.” He stayed silent.

            I heard him walk over, his steps heavy and loud. As Teldryn neared me he took a chair close to us and sat near where I lay. His armor was badly burnt but otherwise unharmed; I supposed his atronach had unexpectedly exploded at some point and he had caught the brunt of the damage. “So…” he began slowly, deliberately. His arms rested on his thighs, his head bowed low with his eyes focused on the floor. I wasn’t certain if it was my fatigue or the pain I was in but his voice sounded more ragged, deeper. “You weren’t kidding. About any of it,” he clarified.

            “Glad that I’ve converted another non-believer,” I rolled my eyes. “You think I go about raving about dragons for fun?”

            “Maybe I thought you were _jesting_.”

            “Whoever jokes about dragons has one _wicked_ sense of humor,” I countered.

            Running his fingers through his mohawk, Teldryn cleared his throat. “I suppose I won’t bother telling you that you’re powerful.”    

            “Afraid I already know that,” I yawned as I stretched out my arms to relax my muscles. “You might as well make yourself comfortable because I’m planning on catching up on some sleep.”

            Teldryn frowned and bent over to catch one of my still-outstretched arms by an unscathed wrist that gave way to minor wounds. “You’re still hurt?” His eyes shone with concern. I didn’t jerk back, letting the pulse of my wrist meet against the calloused flesh of his palm. When I didn’t answer immediately he observed, “But not as badly as I expected.”

            At that I did sit up and pull back, noticing the blood spots left on the gown. No need to waste a potion or a spell; whatever was left would be gone by morning. “You expected me to be hurt _badly_?” I smiled a little at that and chuckled.

            “Weeeeell,” he drew out, “you did run after a _dragon_ in little more than your smallclothes.” He smiled.

            I raised an eyebrow and admonished, “I’m the gods damned _Dragonborn_ in case you’ve forgotten. I can withstand a lot more than the average man.”

            Teldryn began to unclasp his own armor and stripped down to his underclothes. “ _M’sera_ , I don’t think you realize how true that statement is.” He settled into his own bedroll and motioned toward the washtub. “It stinks like a battlefield in here.”        

            “If you don’t like it, you can dump out the water yourself,” I snapped at him gently, ignoring his address. I knew what _sera_ meant and assumed it was close enough. I wasn’t going to waste my time on Morrowind becoming fluent in Dunmeris. “Besides, one of the perks of saving everyone’s arse is never having to clean up after yourself.”

            He laughed at that. “I suppose had you not been up at the crack of dawn half-naked, we all would have been worse off.”

            “You seem oddly fixated on my state of dress this morning,” I observed.

            “Who wouldn’t be? You just killed a dragon in less than what it most men don while fighting whole armies,” he pointed out. “Although I think I could take on one while in mine,” he winked at me.

            I felt my cheeks warm. “ _Alright_. I get it.”

            We laid side by side, facing one another silently. I frowned and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

            I rolled tighter into my bedroll. “Despite your forced jovial manner,” he now frowned but I continued, “I’m certain you’re still angry at me.” I dropped my eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze. I wasn’t sure why his anger concerned me; maybe it was just old, familiar guilt cropping up again.

            “I’m certain you’re still right,” he whispered.

            My mouth worked itself into a grimace, knotted sideways. “I could guess why but I’d rather you just tell me.”

            His eyes widened. “What does it matter to you what my reasoning is? I can obviously still do as you ask without question.”

            I was a bit surprised myself, hearing him voice my own thoughts. Instead of dwelling on the logic I rolled onto my back, my shoulder blades digging painfully into the floor. “Don’t bother,” I curtly answered.

            Suddenly, I felt his hand on my arm and I froze, the heat of his palm almost scorching. “If you’re still in pain, I have more healing potions.”

            I shook my head. “I’m _fine_.”

            His hand left but its seering impression remained like a burn, slowly fizzling out. “I suppose we’ll go out tomorrow then?” was all he said.

            “Skaal be damned. I need sleep.” I reached around and rubbed the spot where his hand had been. All was quiet for a short while, the faint smell of blood lingering in the air.

            I finally told him, “If I were you, I would be enraged at me. Furious.”

            Teldryn took in a breath as if to speak but said nothing.

            “I know _you’re_ upset but I’m not mad at myself. I did what I had to do,” I continued coldly.

            Teldryn replied after a few more seconds, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. “Get some sleep. We can talk about this later.”

            I took his advice and let sleep take me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if my responses to comments and posting become a bit more sporadic in the coming months. School has me really busy and I'm actually working on the prequel to RoS so I've been more invested in drafting those chapters. Whew. This chapter. What to say? Action scenes are hard but I've definitely gotten a lot better at writing them. Next chapter we'll see Rook and Teldryn work through the whole "Sorry not sorry I work with the Stormcloaks" thing. Trust me: it's not the biggest hurdle in their relationship in this story.
> 
> Shout outs to some lovely guests who left kudos as well as FlaxenDragon14. Thanks guys! And a super special thanks to SuFin20 for their generous time in helping point out small edits (those are very much appreciated!) and thoughtful comments, and to praeeunt for their continued support and kindness (you really are too kind!) Thanks all! If I've forgotten someone, don't let me get away with it! Until next time -Ash


	12. Hearth

“This is going to hurt,” I warned.

            Laying one hand on his chest from behind, I used my other hand to push on his back as I yanked out the remains of an arrow. It had been a nice, clean shot—one I would have complimented had it not speared my mercenary completely through.

            “Aaargh!” Teldryn shouted as his body tensed up and drew closer to me. One of his hands shot up to clasp mine. It was cold and clammy but his grip was still painfully tight. “Is it all out _now_?”

            I carefully rubbed my fingertips around his wounds, the bloodflow long since staunched thanks to a few healing spells. The two halves of the arrow were now beside me and they seemed to be there in entirety. “I think so. Just stay still and try to relax.” I casted another healing spell around the area, a golden glow flowing through the wound at first in graceful waves. Eventually, his skin began to knit from the inside out and I felt his chest become whole.

            Teldryn rubbed the area on his back and groaned, “Blasted draugr.” He turned to look over his shoulder at me, his face now close to mine and his smile wide. “Your life always this exciting?”

            I moved back from Teldryn and pushed myself onto my feet. After this morning’s dragon attack, I knew today would be bad. The sun was now setting into a sea of gold and oranges while a sea of bones surrounded us; the giant skeleton of a dragon was left by the word wall that taught me the word _GOL_ and another handful of draugr bodies littered the landscape. This had been a lot harder than I expected. On top of an odd-looking dragon there was a wave of draugrs and frost trolls that complicated things. Unexpectedly, Teldryn had gotten shot by an arrow from a draugr attacking from above. A little less unexpectedly I had not absorbed the second dragon’s soul. Yet again, I’d heard strange laughter after its soul disappeared. To add to the annoyance, I couldn’t call Odahviing from Solstheim either. I wasn’t certain that something was _not_ strange about this island and dragons.

            “This is about a standard day for me, I suppose,” I answered. “How’s the shoulder?”

            He stood beside me now, barechested but holding his shirt and armor in one arm. His forehead was drenched with sweat; I imagined the wound still burned with sharp pain. Rolling his shoulder he shared, “Hurts a little more than it should but nothing serious.”

            I took off my mask and hood, “Frea mapped the stones of power for me earlier. From what I remember, the Wind Stone is closest but still hours away from here. I’m exhausted and we’ve had a long day.”

            Taking my hint Teldryn nodded, “I was going to suggest as much. I’ve done my fair share of fighting but two dragons in one day has been a _tad_ taxing.”

            I nudged him and stopped myself from slapping his shoulder, “ _Two_ dragons? You should have seen when I took down Alduin; in a span of eight or ten hours I had to take down more than that… _before_ traveling to Sovngarde and taking on the World-Eater himself.”

            Teldryn looked at me with a serious face. “I can never tell when you’re joking.”

            I walked toward the dragon skeleton and began to work on yanking out an enormous quilt from my pouch. “I’m the Dragonborn. It’s practically implied that all I’m made to do is kill dragons.” The quilt was stitched together from a collection of pelts so it was heavy and awkward to unfold and spread out. I hurled one edge of it over the rib cage of the dragon and spent several minutes tugging and straightening out the quilt to create a makeshift hut; I didn’t want to ask Teldryn for help with his shoulder recovering from a fresh injury. “It’s also implied that I’m endlessly clever with all things relating to dragons.”

            Teldryn whistled low, “Now _that_ is what I call a camp.” He ran a hand over a few loose sections and grabbed some leather strips from his pouch, tying them back to create a makeshift doorway. He put a leg to the ends of a rib and pulled in the opposite direction, snapping it from the skeleton. Once devoid of a soul, dragon bones were as fragile as wood but I was still impressed that Teldryn ignored his pain to help. He repeated the action until an opening was clear. “Just look at that. A fire, a couple of decorations, and we could just live up here forever.”

            “Yes,” I agreed, “A home next to a dragon’s lair. My life would be very complete then. I could reduce my existence to being a stay-at-home dragon killer.”

            Teldryn and I worked on making a fire and a way for it to ventilate through the dragon’s skull—eventually, it looked as if the beast were still breathing fire. We covered the snow-laden ground with a layer of what plants we could gather and, on top of that, the pelts of frost trolls that we skinned and dried over the fire. We didn’t have bedrolls but the hut stayed well-heated thanks to the small space and the close fire. Teldryn didn’t bother putting his shirt back on and I was in the process of taking off my own armor, working to get down to my underclothes. The heat threatened to become oppressive so we kept the opening clear to allow the cold mountain air to flow.

            I dug through my pouch and produced two flagons of ale, some cheese wedges, and a few apples. “Sorry about the selection. Food takes up a lot of space and weight in here that I could be saving for potions.” I handed him a bottle of ale and some food. “Unless you want more invisibility potion to wash the cheese down with.”

            “No, no,” he answered in a jokingly serious manner. “The potions go straight through me, makes me muddle headed.”

            I took a swig of ale and a large bite of cheese. “Your loss.”

            After a few more bites he added, “On Morrowind, dragons were just whispers. None of this,” he pointed around us, “was real. But here I am, sitting in a dragonbone hut. With the Dragonborn.”

            “This has been my reality for a very long time,” I whispered with a tone of sadness that surprised me.

            Teldryn grimaced and gave me a look of sympathy, obviously catching what had caught me off-guard. “I can imagine this gets tiring.”

            “I really thought I was done with daily dragon slayings,” I placed my hand on the nearest rib, “but I guess you can never really run away from the thing that you were fated for.”

            I smoothed out the troll pelt absentmindedly, feeling the wet of melted snow and ice clump up sections of the insulated fur. I took a slow, deliberate bite of the apple in my hand and chewed even more slowly. Swallowing the bite I took a final swig of the ale. I pulled out my timepiece and sighed. “I once told a dragon I didn’t believe in fate and he laughed. Joke’s on me I suppose.”

            Teldryn leaned back and braced himself on the forearm of the uninjured shoulder. He watched the fire for a bit, his expression somber. After a few minutes, he quietly asked, “So all those rumors were true?”

            “Depends on the rumor. I’ve heard some wild ones. Once I heard a story in an inn that the Dragonborn was the Archmage of the College of Winterhold.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m _not_ by the way.”

            He examined the pelts for a bit, picking at clumps here and there. Obviously, he was working something out to ask me. “Right before I left Windhelm for good,” was how he slowly began, “Ulfric claimed there was a dragon attack in Helgen. That’s how he ended up winning the support of a number of Nords across Skyrim.”

            I chuckled uncomfortably, my own gaze set on the fire and not Teldryn. We’d been ignorning this issue. No Dunmer in Windhelm ever confronted me about it; in fact, _no one_ ever asked me to justify my actions. I was the gods damned Dragonborn. I killed dragons. That’s all anyone ever wanted me to do. “That’s true. Alduin attacked Helgen and wiped it off the face of Nirn.” Simple, straight-forward.

            “Ah,” was all Teldryn could say. “And you killed Alduin.”

            I snorted, “Sure, let’s call it that.” His face looked dark and full of questions. I glanced down at my bottle of ale and took another swig. “But… I’m guessing you’d like to have some of the details fleshed out.”

            He shook his head and looked down at his own empty bottle. “ _How_ could you have done that?” his voice hitched a little.

            I almost laughed but restrained myself. “You’re going to have to specify _which_ ‘that.’ As it happens I’ve done _a lot_ of things others would have me answer for.”

            “Windhelm.” His mouth set in a stubborn line. His brow furrowed in frustration. “You helped Ulfric win the war, kept him in power. What about the Dunmer there?”

            “You don’t seem to be as concerned about the Khajiit and Argonians but they’re treated like shit just the same,” I spit out but quickly added, “but it doesn’t make it right. And it’s not.”

I picked at the fur again. “I had to do a lot of things to take care of Alduin _the World-Eater_ and at some point I stopped caring about the consequences.” I finally casted my glance towards him, glaring. “I did what I had to do.”

            He simply met my eyes, frowning. “And helping Ulfric was your _only_ option?”

            “Not by choice. You think I _like_ the nonsense he spouts?” I spit out suddenly and gritted my teeth momentarily. “I didn’t join the Stormcloaks because I _wanted_ to.”

            At _that,_ Teldryn’s expression softened into confusion. “You do realize none of this is making sense?”

            I sighed, mustering what little patience I possessed. “At one point, I almost killed Alduin but he got away from me…” I stopped, the thought making me a little regretful. “So in order to find him, I had to capture one of his closest allies: a dragon named Odahviing. There is only one place in Skyrim made for catching dragons.” When Teldryn couldn’t guess I explained, “Dragon’s Reach in Whiterun.”

            Teldryn only nodded so I continued, “Unfortunately, Jarl Balgruuf—then Whiterun’s ruler—wasn’t as cooperative as one would expect him to be considering I’d helped him more times than I can count. First, he complained that he couldn’t agree to help me catch a dragon when his city was in danger of being ransacked from either side, despite the fact that he had loyalties with the Imperials.”

            “The Imperials or the Aldmeri?” Teldryn was quick to ask for the distinction. Most individuals simply lumped the two together.

            I clarified, “The Empire proper. You think a Nord would crawl into bed with any of the Altmer wanting to crush their way of living?” I didn’t give Teldryn time to comment. “That’s too complicated of a story. The point is, Balgruuf had ties to the Imperial army.”

            He settled onto his side and propped his head up with an arm. “Continue.”

            “Balgruuf also had some petty rivalry with Ulfric but I indulged the jarl and brought everyone together to draw up a peace treaty. The problems _that_ caused notwithstanding, I hadn’t been involved in the war before that.”

            “Imagine that, two Nords carrying on a grudge for years.”

            I exhaled. “Would _you_ like to tell the story?”

He laughed and shook his head.

            “An agreement was reached but when I asked for Balgruuf’s cooperation he _again_ refused. He went back on his word.” I heard my own voice seethe a little with the memory of _that_ argument. “So, I decided to take care of the problem. I gave Ulfric my support in return for control of Whiterun. Once we took over the city, Ulfric placed an old Gray-Mane as the new jarl. Easily influenced and intimidated. Once he became jarl it was easy enough to get him to do what I wanted.”

            Teldryn shook his head and almost angrily said, “You can’t tell me that the Empire wouldn’t have helped you, wouldn’t have pressured Balgruuf.”

            “I’m sure they would have but with the Empire comes Thalmor money and power. The Thalmor aren’t as interested in stopping dragons from what I understand.” I picked again at the troll pelt. “Another very long and very complicated story.”

            He rose up, his frustration a little more evident, “But you _can’t_ have a good reason for keeping Ulfric in power _now_.”

            “If you don’t think my life is important.” I calmly explained, “All those Nords that I fought with? They also give him unwavering support. Ignorant, stubborn, unwavering support.” I let that sink in for a moment. “I’m the Dragonborn but their _loyalty_ lies with Ulfric. I’m a Breton who uses magic and isn’t _terribly_ interested in making sure the Nord way of life is preserved. Many risked their lives for him out of the blind devotion of being a gods damned _Nord_. You tell me what _you_ think cleaning up Ulfric’s horse shit would cost _me_.”

            Teldryn’s emotions deflated a bit as his eyes lit with realization. “If you tried to go against Ulfric in any manner, you’d be signing your death warrant.”

            “I generally follow the rule that my life is my most important asset.”

            He mulled over the thought. “But you see no reason to _try_ to help?”

            I rolled my eyes. “Why _should_ I? I somehow end up getting dragged into _something_ eventually. Just look at the Skaal. I’ve come here to kill the man who wants to kill me but now I’m expected to kill the dragons, save the _Skaal,_ and _save all of Solstheim_ ,” I counted off my piling unwanted responsibilities. Teldryn flinched a little at that. “You see what I have to do. Are you going to tell me that the _Redoran_ are going to take care of this? They can barely handle the ash spawn wandering around. Even _you_ left to rot away here on Solstheim for some gods damned reason. Why don’t _you_ go help your _own people_ , hmm?”

            Teldryn said nothing and his face was unreadable.

            “The fact of the matter is that _my life will always be someone else’s_. Someone _always_ needs my help. I’m supposed to right every little wrong in all of _Mundus_ and if I don’t then _someone_ isn’t happy.”

Teldryn winced at that indirect reference to his behavior.

            “I _do_ what needs to be _done_. I’m not going to apologize to every Dunmer and Khajiit and Argonian because of petty disagreements and ignorance. You’d think everyone would be _thrilled_ once a dragon called _World-Eater_ was banished using an _Elder Scroll_ and _traveling through time_ but for _some_ reason it’s _still_ held over my head about those _other_ things that I just _need_ to do because I’m the Dragonborn,” I finished, glaring at him and frowning. “ _But sure._ I wasn’t planning on doing anything else this Era.”

            Teldryn looked at me, shame written all over his face. He ran his fingers through his mohawk, his mouth pursed in contemplation of what to say. “Weeeell, then.” He rubbed at his neck, the muscles in his chest and upper arms flexing slightly. He coughed. “Can’t say I’ve done anything so impressive… did I tell you I was from Blacklight? Now there’s a _real_ proper city.”

            “You’re doing a horrible job at diffusing this situation,” I pointed out.

“Alright, then. _Obviously_ , I’ve made some misguided comments,” he smiled back. “How about you tell me why my opinion is so important? You could have just told me to do my job and not take the time to explain yourself.”

            I shook my head and chuckled. “How about this?” I sat up and brought my arms down to my shirt and brought it over my head, my hair falling behind me.

            Teldryn quickly slapped a hand to his eyes and used another to wave dismissively at me. “Wha… no, no! I didn’t mean for you to invite that sort of…”

            I pointed to my rib cage, right underneath my smallclothes. A thin, dark scar ran vertically down, the line jagged. “This is where a werewolf snapped at me and then, while it was healing, I was sliced by a vindictive bar wench who thought I was sharing a bed with her lover. Didn’t _quite_ believe I wasn’t interested in lying with an Orc.”

            Relieved, Teldryn laughed. “I can’t tell if I’m glad that you aren’t offering to roll around with me.”

            I frowned and raised an eyebrow. “You want to know if I wanted to _sleep_ with you. Here. In the skeleton of a dragon.” I squinted at him and brought my shirt up to cover my chest. “ _How_ is that you could even _think_ of such a thing after I just told you I kill _dragons_ for a _fateful existence?_ ”

            Teldryn stood up and stooped over as he walked to my side of the hut and settled beside me. I instinctively moved away and asked, “ _Are you mad_?”

            He smiled widely and put a bare arm around my bare shoulders, slipping underneath my hair. “Are you deliberately ignoring my question or do you not have an answer?”

I lit up brightly, burning red as Masser itself. I couldn’t think straight with his ash-grey skin next to my sun-malnourished arm. I had no idea that his blood ran hot beyond his palm and it was searing a brand into my skin. “Is it really important for you to be doing this?”

            His face softened but his voice grew serious, “Do you not want me to?”

            I didn’t _not_ want him to but I refused to admit as much to him. Instead I asked, “So you aren’t angry at me anymore?”

            Teldryn frowned. “That’s not an answer.” His other hand grabbed one of my hands that was grasping my shirt. His gaze didn’t stray from my eyes. “I think I’m angry at _myself_ because I had my own idea of what I thought you _should_ be.”

            Distinctly aware of how close he held me—how near his face was to mine—my tongue was paralyzed. Even though I tried to concentrate on the conversation, my mind couldn’t work beyond how his calloused palm felt in my own or how his fingers were larger and stronger than mine. Worse though, it felt like he hadn’t even processed what I’d _told_ him. I suppose if I were a bit more level-headed I would have just _told_ him as much. But I wasn’t. While I could see myself having an easy conversation with a man I was finding increasingly attractive and witty, my hot-headed nature got the better of me as usual. I snatched my hand from his and stormed out of the hut, throwing my shirt on as I stomped through the ice. My boots left heavy imprints in the snow, the now night sky blanketing around our camp. As I reached the word wall, I braced myself upon it and focused on the words there. Paarthurnax swore that meditating upon walls aided with controlling our nature but he’d had decades of practice. I felt Teldryn’s hand grab my elbow to catch my attention.

            His low voice came from behind me in the cold night. “I apologize. You weren’t comfortable.”

             His hand left my elbow. I kept my forehead pressed against the cold wall, my hands grazing across the notches of the words covered in ice. We stayed like that for several freezing minutes.

            “ _M’sera_ , you have _no_ idea how frightening you are,” he finally whispered to me, his hands gently wrapping around my shoulders and leaning in so close to my ear that I could feel his breath hot against my skin. “Imagine being me, having to take all of your words in. I’m doing my best.”

            My anger was subsiding and I allowed myself to relish the contact for a brief moment. I turned to face him but brought my hands to meet his to keep them around me. “You wanted to know,” I countered.

            “Ha!” His low octave laugh rang loudly and I shivered from the sound—not the cold. He must have ran out immediately after me as he was still clad in only his pants and boots. “How was I supposed to know my new employer was the Dragonborn? You don’t exactly advertise the fact. When you ask a regular warrior what they’ve done the best you might find is a war. When you ask the Dragonborn, you’ll find they’re the revered savior of a whole nation, a mortal with more power than most could dream of.”

            “ _Savior_ is a bit strong,” I pointed out. “I can tell you lived in Windhelm because those sound like _Nordic_ rumors.”

            Teldryn grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “It’s a lot to take in, especially when you’re so…” he left it there, his voice cracking at the possibilities. “You’re intimidating. You’re powerful. You’re clever. I’m not exactly hired by someone like you every day.”

            I coughed a little uncomfortably. He didn’t sound _terrified_ ; his words felt more like adoration.

            “On top of _that,_ ” he interrupted my thoughts, “I was so upset at you that I almost got us both killed.”

            I rolled my eyes and blew a strand of hair out of my face. “You’re _really_ giving yourself too much credit.”

            “Ha ha,” he dryly replied. “I don’t understand completely, what you had to do. I think I _am_ still angry about Windhelm but I get it. You’ve had to make hard choices and sometimes the decisions weren’t nice and clear cut.”

            I slowly pulled out of his arms and strolled back to the hut. Teldryn followed behind me and when we were settled back in he continued, “I imagine that most of your former hires or followers must have swooned over you immediately, ready to lay down their lives for you and you never even had a choice about being the Dragonborn,” he looked into my eyes and I frowned. “I imagine I wouldn’t want to let anyone know I was that person either.”     

            I almost told him that most of my former hires or followers ended up doing just that: dying. Instead, I decided against my better judgement to put a little faith in him. “Teldryn?”

            “Yes?” I could hear a smile hiding behind his somber demeanor.

            “Your opinion of me…” I faltered a little. My mind raced. I wasn’t sure _exactly_ why so I grasped at what I could, “…it means a lot to me because you’re capable. Tolerable. I could almost see us being friends.” I tried to search his face for a reaction but I found nothing there. “I don’t have many of those. Not anymore anyway.” I thought of Pavo and of Lydia and the Dark Brotherhood and Mercer Frey and others who had gotten killed because of me or betrayed me or both. “It’s nice having someone I can somewhat trust on and off the battlefield.” Glancing off to the side, I forced myself to keep a straight face. “Once in a while, I _actually_ believe your song and dance about being the best swordsman in all of Morrowind.”

            Teldryn grinned and threw his head back to laugh. Something I’d said amused him and his reaction slightly irritated me. He noticed and shook his head. “No, not you. Something else.” He didn’t elaborate but confessed, “You know, in Ashfallow, when I watched that dagger go through your belly, I was afraid that my rash emotions were going to kill off the Dragonborn. I even thought to myself, ‘She came all this way to save Solstheim and now I’ve killed her.’ But afterwards I realized that _you_ had saved _my_ life.”

            “So? Join all of Skyrim in _that_ Guild.” My arms spread out wide. “Dragonborn _saves_ another!” I snorted as my arms fell. “ _Gripping_ story, that one.”

            He shook his head, obviously not swayed by my dismissal. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me, _m’sera_. Maybe you’ve done horrible things in the past, and maybe you’ll continue to do so. But I have the utmost respect for you and I will honor my commitments to you.”

            I laughed loudly mostly out of surprise at how reverant he sounded and how it _didn’t_ quite annoy me.

Teldryn grimaced. “Too over the top?”

            “It was a good try, but don’t be so willing to lay your life down for someone you barely know.” I couldn’t stop laughing and now tears were forming in my eyes. “It’s fine to say you’re scared witless of me and _that’s_ why you’ll do as I ask. Or that I pay you, unless I can stop doing that.”

            “No, no,” he asserted, “you still need to pay me.”

            Silence settled inside the remains of the dragon. Teldryn’s touch was still burned onto my skin and I rubbed the areas gently. I gave one final thought to the dwindling fire and brought it back to life with a weak fire spell. I rolled over to settle into a fitful night’s sleep when I heard Teldryn chuckling.

            Groaning, I turned to face him. “ _What_ is it now, Sero?”

            “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking of how everyone assumes you’re a Nord man running around like a beast in the wild.”

            “And…?”

            “And _what_?”

            “This is usually when you try to make a pass at me. You know, you flirt with me and then I tell you to shut it?”

            “Give me a moment,” he mused, rubbing at his jaw in contemplation. “I’m sure I can work _something_ in here to make you blush.”

            “Oh, _shut it_ ,” I snatched a nearby, discarded apple core and threw it at him. “And my blushing is none of your concern.”

            “I can’t help it that you blush at the _mere_ thought of me,” he smirked at me teasingly and winked. He tossed the core into the refreshed flames. “See? I knew I’d think of something.”

            I pointed at him accusingly. “ _That_. That is precisely what I was talking about. Last thing I need is another smartmouthed mercenary who feels the need to ceasely chatter.”

            “You sound disappointed,” Teldryn chuckled. “Perhaps we should find a better use for my mouth then?” His eyebrows raised in question.

            He was lucky that apple core had been the most dangerous thing within my reach. “ _Enough_ , Sero. I’d like to rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been happy with any of the previous drafts of this chapter but this is probably my favorite. Rook and Teldryn don't have an easy relationship so I suspect this chapter highlights how hard close relationships can be in general, no matter what kind it is. Going back through this chapter, I realized that a lot of work needed to be done to highlight some issues that would crop up in the sequel to this story (something that I certainly never anticipated when this chapter was first written). Some major changes made to a lot of Rook's dialogue in order to better reflect the canon of the trilogy. Also, the original ending of this chapter was a bit lackluster. I'm much happier with this version!
> 
> Thanks to rachelsmatchstick and guests who've left kudos! Also a special thanks to SuFin20 for their helpful reviews (I literally JUST got your message and will make the appropriate changes ASAP!). Thanks to everyone who reads and I'm really excited to see a lot of you coming back! And thanks so much for bearing with me and my wild schedule--I've been under the weather as well as busy with school. See everyone next chapter where we start getting into the meat of what RoS is about! -Ash


	13. Knowledge is Dangerous

            “ _Now through them does he speak._ ”

            “ _And when the world shall listen._ ”

            “ _And when the world remembers_.”

            “ _And when the world shall see_ …”

            As I looked down the hill at the Wind Stone, the murmur of voices melded into one melodic chorus; the clink of hammers provided the percussive undertone and the not-right water became a light hum to tie it all together.

            “I had no idea this was happening beyond the stone in Raven Rock,” Teldryn commented.

            I shook my head and observed, “I doubt the Skaal thought to alert the entire island of what’s happening. If you didn’t notice, they were wrapped up in making sure they kept their own village safe.” I walked down the hill, leaning back to make sure I kept my sure-footing. “Although what I’m supposed to be doing to _cleanse_ this thing is beyond me.”

            I danced around the blissfully unaware Skaal who were carrying supplies or wandering to a new place to start laying down new stone. Reaching the stone, I stood on the shallow precipice surrounding the pool of ugly water and wrapped one arm around one of the arches decorating the outside. Using it as a brace, I leaned forward and tried to get a better look at the stone. I grimaced at the water and moved back onto the solid ground.

            “Well? Any ideas?” Teldryn asked.

            I closed my eyes and whispered, “ _Gol_ …” I allowed my mind to wander, trying to place what the word meant. Quite unfortunately, dragon tongue wasn’t a widely studied language in Skyrim so it wasn’t as if I could purchase a tome detailing what each word meant in Common. This meant a few minutes trying to feel out the right meaning. I began to pace around and it must have troubled the mercenary.

            “Stone isn’t getting to you, is it?” he half-joked.

            “No, but you need to be quiet,” I gently ordered.

            Not another word came from him but I continued to pace. Something felt right about the motion, each time I felt my foot turn over a pebble or drive into the mud. I sighed and kicked a rock absent-mindedly when a sharp clarity over took me.

            “Earth?” I asked no one in particular and looked back at the stone. “Ah. _Earth_.” I walked back to the edge of the circle, allowed my fingertips to scrape the stone arches and inhaled deeply. I exhaled, “ _GOL!_ ” at the stone but to no avail.

            I felt Teldryn behind me. “Did it work?”

            “I’m going to go out on a limb and say no,” I replied. “I don’t know enough about the power of this word to make it work from this distance.” I glanced down at the water and back at the stone which was still radiating with an energy that could only be described as slimy. Hesitantly, I placed a foot into the water and I felt a disturbing cold creep into my spine.

            “What are you doing that for?” Teldryn grabbed my arm and I pulled away.

            “This isn’t going to work unless I get closer,” I explained and walked toward the stone. “Besides, as evil-feeling as this water is I think it’s just a side-effect of the stone being corrupted as well. Cleanse the stone and the water will follow.”

            I got as close enough as I dared, the water up to my ankles now. I braced myself and hit the stone with another, “ _GOL!_ ” This time a bright energy radiated from myself to the stone and wrapped around it, dissipating the oily sheen from it. The energy whipped upward, leaving the stone clean and earthy again. The Skaal around me began coming out of their daze. I heard the mumbles of confusion around me; they seemed not to notice me as they walked away from the stone to what I guessed to be the Skaal Village.

            “Well,” I declared satisfactorily as I turned toward Teldryn and wiped my hands in a cleaning motion. “That was easy enough.” Just before I stepped out of the water, I felt a rumble underneath me as if the water reverberated with a life force. I froze. Around me the stone and surrounding arches exploded in a brilliant flash of color and I was blinded. I felt myself stumble forward over the precipice. I landed hard on my hands and knees. Blinking, I tried to quickly regain my sight. I could make out Teldryn standing over me but not entirely focused on me.

            “What?” I asked as I scrambled to my feet.

            “RRRRAAAGGGGGRRR!” something raged behind me.

            I whipped around and jumped at the sight of a creature more than twice my height, dripping with that same slimy essence the stone had just been cleansed of. It was all teeth and limbs. All of which looked ready to pounce.      

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumbled as I darted back up the hill calling out to Teldryn, “No time for heorics, Sero. _C’MON_!”

            “No need to tell me twice!” he laughed as I saw him race past me.

            At the top of the hill, I watched the creature claw at the crumbling structures around the stone while the remaining Skaal ran in terror. Both Teldryn and I were at a safe enough distance for now and I wasn’t in the mood to rush into a fight with the giant monster.

            “ _What_ is _that?_ ” I asked Teldryn.

            “How should I know?” he yelled back at me while he threw his hands into the air.

            “What do you mean _you don’t know_?” I shouted in reply. “This isn’t a Morrowind thing?”

            “Oh, _silly_ me!” Teldryn’s voice dripped heavy with sarcasm. “I forgot about the ten foot tall fish-beast that commonly roams around the ashy meadows!”

            I looked back at the beast and saw it spew out dark tendrils from its mouth. It roared again as it stomped a long leg. A wayward Skaal was caught in another mass of tendrils that exploded from the water.

            “AAAAIIEEEE!” he screamed.

            I slapped my hand against my mask. “Oblivion take me,” I cursed myself. “Teldryn, back me up!” I yelled behind me while I ran back down the hill. I didn’t concern myself with unsheathing my sword; I held no interest in tangling with the monster close up. I snapped my fingers and out sprung icy spears. Violently, I hurled each at the creature and each found a mark in its chest. A gust of heat brushed past me, Teldryn’s atronach flying ahead to light the beast on fire. I threw as many spears as I could without straining my magicka link; no need to completely sever it for something like this. Slowly climbing backward, I took my bow and an arrow and loosed one into the creature. Teldryn must have strained his link as well because I saw him shooting arrows from the opposite side.

            Whatever this creature was it wasn’t going down without a fight. The ice spells had slowed it momentarily but didn’t weaken it enough. The Skaal had managed to run away so now it was directing all of its attention toward us. Well, specifically me. “I’m going to regret this,” I warned myself as I replaced my bow. I rushed forward and made a very stupid decision. Bringing both hands to my mouth I yelled, “Hey!” The creature swung its full attention toward me as I raced past it, narrowly missing another spray of tendrils. “That’s right! Over here!”

            As I ran I could feel its heavy steps just a hair’s breadth behind me. My legs ached with an unpleasant burn but if I slowed, the creature would surely overpower me. The dark monster’s legs were unnaturally long and it didn’t seem like pursuing me was taxing it. I prayed to whatever god was watching me madly scramble that I knew where I was going. A few short seconds later, I came upon my goal: a bridge. I had noticed it while in the village and had hoped that if I traveled back in the same direction that I would find the other end of it.

            I slowed and began to gingerly take steps backward. “C’mon now, friend. Just follow me.”

            My _friend_ took the opportunity to spit what felt like acid at me and I jumped back, the spittle hitting my leg and burning it. Ignoring the searing pain, I continued to tiptoe backward onto the bridge. It followed me with huge, lumbering steps. The wood of the bridge creaked worrisomely beneath my feet and I winced when I heard a small snap underneath one of my toes. My heartbeat quickened as I looked down at the wide spaces between each plank; the only thing rising up to meet me was a wide and deep crevice, the bottom imperceptible. The creature began to lose interest so I threw a weak fireball at it. “HA!” I taunted it.

            It snapped its neck at me and hurled itself toward the bridge.

“RRAAAAGGGRR!” the creature howled as its first leg met with the bridge and snapped more than a few planks. It tried to yank itself free by lashing about wildly but only managed to trap itself further and snap one of the handles of the bridge.

            I lurched forward unexpectedly and felt my feet fly from underneath me. I was able to regain my footing just in time. As soon as I shouted, “ _WULD… NAH KEST_!” the bridge flew apart in a tangle of wood, rope, and monster plunging toward the crevice below. Sprinting so quickly was terrifying enough with ground beneath my feet but relying on it to practically _fly_ was gut-wrenching. The moment my feet met the ground on the other side, I dropped to all fours and tried to catch my breath. I staggered upward and looked across the gap; Teldryn was standing there with a few of the Skaal who had been previously entranced by Miraak’s power.

            “Rook?” he yelled from the other side. “You alright over there?”

            “Yes, for the most part,” I called back. “I’m close to the village so I’m going to head back to Storn. You and the others are going to have to take the long way… I… uh…” I waved indiscriminately in front of me. “Have destroyed the bridge.”

            I thought I could hear Teldryn laughing. “Alright, we’ll see you there!”

            Before I started back to the village, I looked over the edge where the bridge posts had been yanked from the ground. I had the quiet, unnerving feeling that the fish-monster had looked vaguely familiar. With each step back the feeling settled uneasily in my stomach.

* * *

 

            Neither Storn nor Frea could be found outside and the green beam of light was no longer present. A few Skaal were still out in the town visiting with one another or finishing some work but it was dusk and so most were nowhere to be seen. I trudged through the snow to Storn’s hut and knocked loudly. I waited for a moment before knocking with a little more vigor. “WAKE UP!” I called out.

            I heard the soft patter of footsteps before the door opened. “Dragonborn! You have returned!” Frea smiled in excitement. “Come in! Come!” She reached for my shoulder and pulled me into the hut. Storn was sitting by the fire, eating out of a bowl.

            “Dragonborn,” Storn addressed. “The air is different. We are safe which means you have succeeded.”

            “Yes,” I twirled a hand around in impatience. “Your people are free.”

            “So, it is. You have proven to be an ally to the Skaal and so the Skaal shall be allies to you,” he put a hand on my forearm amicably and I stepped back, making his arm slide away. He frowned.

            “So what now?” I didn’t like the pressure of being an ally to anyone, much less these people.

            “If you have cleansed the Wind Stone then perhaps you can do the same for the rest of Solstheim. Release the people of Morrowind from Miraak’s hold.”

            “I doubt that’s going to stop Miraak,” I pointed out.

            “But it may slow his progress,” Storn countered.

            “That’s not _enough_ ,” I stressed. “I need to stop Miraak _now_.”

            Storn’s weary eyes grew even wearier if that were possible. He sighed. “I cannot help with that. None here can. You will need the knowledge that Miraak had. You will need to learn more about that book you read from.”

            I pulled the book from my pouch and showed Storn. “Then just tell me about it.”

            Storn took it hesitantly. He turned it over in his hands. “Miraak had this? This does not look like something of the Dragon Cult.” He pushed it back into my hands. “It is a dark thing, unnatural. I will have nothing to do with it.”           

            “ _Thanks_ ,” I muttered, my voice filled with anything but gratitude.

            Storn must have felt my displeasure so he added, “But the Dark Elf wizard Neloth… he came to us not too long ago, asking about Black Books. I believe he would know about this book… perhaps too much.”

            I arched an eyebrow, not that Storn could see, and answered, “Well, thanks for the help. I’ll go seek out Neloth then.”

            As I turned to leave I heard Storn call out behind me, “Be careful, Dragonborn… there is something else at work here.”

            “Isn’t there always?” I flippantly replied.

* * *

 

            “Are you _sure_ this is the last one?” Teldryn asked. “Because we’ve just run all over Solstheim for the better part of a week and damn me if I won’t ask for double my price.”

            “ _Yes_ ,” I asserted. “I’m certain the Sun Stone is the last. And look,” I pointed at the giant mushrooms over the horizon. “This is close to Neloth’s place. We clear this one up and we’ll be a step closer to slowing down Miraak.”

            “And I’m guessing it’s too much to ask that a lurker not chase us afterwards?”

            “It really is.” I’d remembered where I’d seen the fish-like monsters before. They were the horrible looking statues that lined the bottom layers of Miraak’s temple. After facing more than a couple, we’d finally figured out that ice spells were fairly effective. Teldryn had been so fond of fire that it surprised me to learn he knew ice spells.

            His only reply was to laugh and remark, “You forget I’m Dunmer, _m’sera_?”

            By the time we fought the lurker that emerged from the murky waters of the Sun Stone, we were fairly proficient at felling the beasts. The way he would snap his arm back and then release the frost spell reminded me of a bow and arrow, much more so than when he casted fire sparks. By the time the lurker was down on one knee, I had already loosed two more icy spears simultaneously and launched them into its head, jumping backwards as I threw them violently.

            “Hah!” I shouted in delight as I landed on my feet, dust swirling around me and then settling on my armor.

            “Well done!” Teldryn exclaimed excitedly. “We’ve gotten rather good at this, don’t you think?”

            I went over to the body of the creature and proceeded to kick it in the gut a few times. “And that’s for making my life harder than it should be!” I gave it another swift kick before turning to Teldryn. “Yes, I’m excited that killing lurkers is something I do now.”

            He walked over to me and wrapped a sympathetic arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick squeeze. “Oh, cheer up, Rook. We aren’t dead yet.”

            I reached over and picked up his hand, gently tossing it off my shoulder. “ _Thrilled._ ”

            “Such a killjoy.” He started working his way to the largest of the mushrooms coming up from the ash. “Look around,” he said in amazement, spreading his arms at the over-grown mushrooms around us. “The Telvanni are amazing. Look what they've grown from the ash... have you ever seen anything like it?”

            I frowned. Teldryn had told me everything he knew about Neloth and I wasn’t pleased to find out the elf was a member of House Telvanni. But I followed him and took the sight in. I had to agree: it was amazing. There was a nagging feeling that this was a very familiar scene to me. But not quite. The soft pinks and oranges were hazy in the atmosphere, the mushrooms casting dark silhouettes against the bright horizon. It suddenly hit me. “Blackreach. It’s like Blackreach.”

            “Come again?” Teldryn asked.

            I shook my head. “Old underground Dwemer ruin. Not quite like this but similar. The large mushrooms, I mean. But everything is a hazy blue and green and white down there because the mushrooms glow. This place is just like it.”

            “What were you doing in a place like that?” Teldryn seemed interested as we walked closer to the largest of the mushrooms.

            What _had_ I been doing down there? “I… uh… something with the Dwemer?”

            “Obviously,” he replied sarcastically.

            I elbowed him. “I’m serious. I can’t quite remember what I was doing there… give me a second.” I stopped in my tracks. This was really bothering me. “It’s right on the tip of my tongue. I know but I lose it as soon as I find it.”

            Teldryn stopped as well and his voice sounded worried, “Are you alright?”

            “No,” I furrowed my brow. “What had I been doing down there?” I snapped my fingers “ _Let us make wonders together_ …” Yes. That sounded familiar.

            Teldryn put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not important, let’s go see Neloth.”

            I shook my head again. “You’re right. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is familiar…” I snapped my fingers in realization. “There was a book! Another book!”

            “Yes, that’s helpful.” I could practically hear Teldryn rolling his eyes.

            I lost it again. “There was this book. And a voice…” Teldryn continued to walk without me. I ran up to join him. “Ok, sorry, sorry. I got lost in thought.”

            “Knowledge is dangerous,” Teldryn laughed lightly and something stuck me again.

            “ _Who said that_?” I asked aloud.

            Teldryn shrugged. “A lot of people do.”

            I needed to stop this; I was sounding crazy. I tried to forget about whatever was incessantly nagging at me. As we reached the steps leading up to the largest of the structures, I noticed two Dunmer standing around talking.

            “I can’t get this ash guardian spell to work,” commented the male. “Now let me concentrate. Besides shouldn’t you be worrying about the damage to the tower?”

            “Master Neloth has tasked _Elynea_ with repairing the tower,” the female threw back.

            The male was about to reply when he noticed us standing near. “I don’t think you belong here. Does Master Neloth know about you?”

            The male was a younger Dunmer, clothed only in apprentice robes; his face was clean shaven and his long hair was neatly brushed back from his face. “Not quite…” I began when the apprentice scowled at me.

            Immediately the female stepped in, “Don’t mind Talvas. He’s too busy _concentrating_.” Talvas harrumphed and went back to whatever he was doing. “I’m Varona, Master Neloth’s steward. What business do you have with him?”

            I pulled out the Black Book and explained, “I need some help figuring this thing out.”

            “Oh,” she said half-heartedly. “Master Neloth will be quite pleased to see this.” She pointed up the ramp to the main tower. “You’ll find him in the lab. Watch your step.”

            I nodded and began to ascend the ramp. I ran my hands against the giant fungus as I climbed upward, feeling how it almost resembled wood. There were structures that protruded vertically that held lamps in place to illuminate the walkway creating a pleasant glow. When I reached the circular, tastefully decorated door I pushed it open and walked into a dead end antechamber. Teldryn came in behind me and asked, “Is this it?”

            I looked upward. A column of blue aura swirled from around our feet, floating gently upward. I rubbed my hands on the walls around us; gnarled roots vined vertically to the top as well. “Are we supposed to _climb_ upward?”

            Teldryn shook his head. “For someone who’s studied a bit of magic, you sure are dense.” He chuckled a little at that.

            “I’m beginning to think that threatening your pay isn’t really the incentive needed to get you to stop being so mouthy,” I mused looking upward, my hands still rubbing the gnarled roots.

            “Ha! Not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’ve left a trail of dead lurkers in our wake. Those things apparently like shiny baubles; I’ve made a killing the last three days alone.”

            “Yes, yes,” I commented flippantly. “Sweet Sithis, I hope I don’t look like an idiot,” I prayed as I hopped in the air.

            The aura picked me up, a light burst of air catching underneath my cape. I couldn’t quite gain balance and my arms and legs loosely hung in the air as I flew up, catching speed the further I flew up. A second later the aura pushed me onto a short ramp and I stumbled forward, trying to find my footing. I leaned on the railing and just as I was able to straighten myself, Teldryn flew in from behind me and stumbled forward. Holding onto the railing, I braced myself so that I didn’t fall over with him on top of me. I heard a throat clearing in front of me and my head snapped up.

            “How…” Neloth started as he closed a book shut with one hand. He squinted at the both of us. “… _quaint_.” A candlelight spell floated above him.

I brushed myself off. “Yes, well…”

            But before I could begin, he interrupted, “I don’t _recall_ inviting you into my tower. I do hope you make this worth my while.”

            I wasn’t usually frazzled by anyone but Neloth was unnerving me. “I… uh… so you’re a Telvanni wizard. I think I’ve heard of House Telvanni…” his eyes burrowed past my mask as if he didn’t buy my feigned naïvety, “…I think.” I swallowed as Neloth stared even harder at me, silently. I shook my head. This was ridiculous.

            “Why, of course you have. _Everyone_ has heard of the master wizards of Morrowind,” he began pacing around, dramatically gesturing with his hands. “We are one of the great houses that _rule_ Morrowind.”

            Possibly embarrassed at being a little afraid of this pompous wizard for the briefest of seconds, I sarcastically agreed, “Yes, you are a _great_ and _powerful_ wizard. I get it.”   

            He shot me a look and placed a hand dramatically on his chest. “I am likely the greatest wizard you’ll _ever_ meet.” He threw his cape back as he waved his arms widely at a room behind him. “Who else do you think could create a _staff enchanter_? If you make yourself useful around here,” he walked back toward me and smiled wickedly. “I might just let you use it.”

            I cocked my head, “Not interested in being a mage’s experiment. Besides I don’t really use staffs.”

            He looked at me closer, as if seeing me for the first time. “Didn’t I see you in Raven Rock?”

            “Yes,” I sighed in exasperation. “I’m here to see you about Black Books.”

            “Ooooh, you’re referring to the tomes of esoteric knowledge that old Hermaeus Mora has scattered throughout the world.”

            Something hit me with an unstoppable force. “THE OGHMA INFINIUM!” I shouted. “Yes! That’s it! That’s the book.” I scrambled over to a nearby table where scrap paper and charcoal lay scattered. “Yes, which path though?” I started scrawling circles within circles of each other, possessed by something unnatural. Behind me I heard commotion but couldn’t quite make it out. I kept scrawling and scrawling.

            “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” shouted Neloth.

            “What on Nirn?” I could hear Teldryn sound in chorus.

            Before I knew it both of them had arms around me pulling me off, dragging me away. Teldryn grabbed a chair and pushed me into it. I felt him throw back my hood and take off my mask. “ _M’sera_? Can you hear me?” I felt his gloves search my face but my mind was elsewhere.

            “My, my, my,” Neloth murmured, holding the papers I had scribbled on. “The Oghma Infinium, hmmm?” He walked over to me and shoved the papers in Teldryn’s hands. Teldryn looked confused. “Girl? You’ve read the Oghma Infinium?”

            “The Oghma Infinium, yes. I took the path of shadows, let me show you… I’ll show you,” I weakly tried grabbing the papers from Teldryn’s hands but he stepped back slightly.

            “Girl, settle down,” Neloth ordered as he placed his hands on my face, steadying me. “ _Hold still_. Let me have a look at you.” His long, thin hands were cold but strong. “Oooooh, yes…” he mused almost gleefully.

            “What’s wrong?” Teldryn’s voice was filled with more than a little concern.

            “Incipient madness… loss of self-awareness and… well… no black spots in the whites of your eyes though,” he sounded a little disappointed at the last discovery. “Documented indications of Hermaeus Mora's permanent influence.” Neloth smiled widely. “Give me those,” he snatched the papers from Teldryn’s hands. My mind was becoming a bit clearer and I was coming back to my senses.

            “Girl, this is impressive. Did you really read one of the Oghmas Infinium?”

            I shook my head, trying to shake off the feeling that had overcome me suddenly. “I… uh…” I placed my head into my hands. “Yes. I was helping someone with… a Dwemer artifact… Hermaeus Mora… he asked me for the book.”

            Neloth turned a curious eye to me. “You’ve _met_ Hermaeus Mora?” He looked me up and down. “Well, I might be more willing to help you then… if you allowed me to study you and help me with some things. Someone in your condition is quite rare. I’d _love_ to study a specimen such as yourself.”

            I gritted my teeth, irritated. “ _Great_.” I was feeling a little more lucid now. “I hear you know about Black Books,” I repeated.

            “You mentioned that,” Neloth smiled wickedly again. “Is this connected to your search for Miraak?”

            “I think so,” I pulled out the book and showed it to him. “I found one and I need to find more.”

            “Found one?” he laughed. “And you read it too, I suppose? Don’t try to deny it, a person like you already touched by Mora’s need for knowledge. I bet you couldn’t help yourself.” I sighed loudly. Neloth was enjoying this more than he should. “Dangerous knowledge is still knowledge and therefore useful. Usually turns out to be the _most_ useful in my experience.”

            I swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. _Knowledge is dangerous._ “I have to know what Miraak knows if I want to stop him.”

            Neloth suppressed a chuckle. “Oh yes, I’m sure you _must know_. But it is a dangerous path indeed. Hermaeus Mora gives away nothing for free… but you _know_ that, don’t you?”

            “Yes, I get it. I got entangled with the prince of knowledge and I paid for it,” I said exasperatedly. “Can _you_ help me?”

            “I must warn you,” he leaned down, looking at my face again, “you may end up like Miraak…” he stroked his long, pointed beard. “Two power-mad Dragonborn… It could be very interesting.”

            I ignored his comment. “Do you know where find to another Black Book?”

            “Oh, yes,” he waved a hand while walking around his lab, “They’re not hard to locate once you know how to look for them. I have one here I’ve been using to locate more.”       

            “Wait. You _have_ a Black Book?” Maybe I could work his interest in me as something to play to my advantage.

            “Yes. I haven’t been idle while this _fascinating_ madness engulfed Solstheim,” he replied excitedly. He sounded genuinely fascinated by the entire situation.

            “So, does that mean…”  I started.

            “Before you ask, no. It’s not a book you’re looking for. Quite unconnected to Miraak.”

            I stood up and could see Teldryn shift a little as if ready to catch me. I looked down at my fingertips, sooted with charcoal. I rubbed them onto the palms of my gloves. I met Neloth’s gaze and asked, “That it?”

            “Well… I do know where to find a Black Book that _can_ help you,” he said in reply.

            “One connected to Miraak?” I wanted to be sure that Neloth wasn’t just talking to hear his own voice.

            “Yes. I haven’t been able to get at it though. But,” he looked at me with that smile that reminded me of a mad alchemist. “Maybe together we can unlock the secrets the Dwemer left behind.”

            “You’re kidding me? What do the Dwemer have to do with this?” I asked in disbelief.

            “I’m sure when you found the Oghma Infinium, the Dwemer had _nothing_ to do with it,” he answered sarcastically. “Forbidden knowledge. The Dwemer were obsessed with it, somewhat of a specialty of theirs… you don’t believe they’d just leave those sorts of things just _laying around_ , do you?”

            I had to agree with him. “So the Dwemer had one of these Black Books and it’s hidden?”

            He shook his head. “I found their reading room in the ruins of Nchardak and, lo and behold, there’s a Black Book just sitting there… in a protective case.” He smirked at me again. “Just _ripe_ for the picking.”

            “And you think the two of us can get it out?”

            “But of course,” Neloth answered confidently. “If your thirst for knowledge doesn’t give us an edge, I don’t know what will.”

            I was a little embarrassed. “ _Fine_.”

            “Very well then. To Nchardak then. Follow me,” he ordered. He went to the platform and jumped off, the aura catching him.

            Before I could follow him, Teldryn caught my arm. “Rook, are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

            “Honestly?”

He nodded in response.

“I don’t know what’s going on. This has never happened before. I read the Infinium a very long time ago and I’ve never been over-whelmed like _that_.”

            “Never?”

            I shook my head. “I should _probably_ mention that I did more than simply get knowledge from Hermaeus Mora if this is happening.”

            “Oh? What did you do, agree to do his laundry?” he half-joked.

            Again, I shook my head. “I’m his champion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this looks a bit like plot, eh? Not many edits were made to this chapter aside from cosmetic issues. For the first twelve chapters, there's a lot of set-up and sort of getting things ready for... well, this. And Neloth! I love writing Frea's character but Neloth is fantastic because he's such an arrogant prick. Also, some light foreshadowing of Rook's problems back in Digging a Deeper Pit (her unusual headache). There are a few things here that I'd like to bring to your attention so you can speculate/pay attention to these issues as the story goes on:
> 
> 1\. Obviously, Rook has some history with House Telvanni. Wonder what's up there.  
> 2\. Whoa. How did Rook forget about Blackreach? (If you remember TESV main quest, this might give you some hint as to some strange stuff going on).  
> 3\. If Rook's so good at magic, why in the world does she not immediately know how Neloth's lift work?  
> 4\. When did Rook tell Neloth she was the Dragonborn?
> 
> Ack! The mystery! 
> 
> But now to the thanks! Lots of thanks to kind guests who've left kudos. You guys make my day. Another very special thanks to SuFin20 for their kind words and continued support! And thanks to all of you who continue to read; it really means a lot to me. Next chapter? Things get worse. My bad. Until next time! -Ash


	14. Plant the Seeds

Teldryn and I walked far enough behind Neloth so that we could hear him but he couldn’t hear us.

            “…in fact I spent many years looking for the Oghma Infinium but ended up finding a Black Book instead and…” Neloth went on.

            “Come again?” Teldryn directed to me in a hushed tone. “You’re Hermaeus Mora’s servent?”

            “Yeah, it’s complicated…” I faltered. “I sort of accidentally helped him recover the Oghma Infinium from a Dwemer artifact that, much like this situation, locked the book away from anyone’s grasp.”

            “How do you _accidentally_ agree to help a daedric prince?” He began to count on his fingers. “See, when _I_ agree to work for someone there’s at least some coin being exchanged. It’s usually pretty obvious. Unless…” he let the thought sit for a moment. “Deception? But that isn’t really the prince of knowledge’s manner, is it?”

            “…during the time I was clan leader of the House Telvanni, there were several _unfortunate_ assassinations _but_ …” I could hear Neloth continue.

            “I was _not_ tricked,” I hissed. “There was just…something else. I told you: complicated.”

            Teldryn waved a hand as if to erase the comment, “Well, I suppose the means by which doesn’t do us much good now, does it?”

            There were some other things I hadn’t mentioned but I let it go. “Point taken. I’m just a little concerned about what happened back at Tel Mithryn.” I threw a thumb behind me to indicate the location. “I’m dead serious when I say I’ve _never_ had anything like that happen to me before. I don’t care if Hermaeus wants me to do something for him but _that_ was ridiculous.”

            Teldryn seemed to purposely ignore my admission of compliance and instead asked, “Now that you know Miraak and this prince seem to have a connection you’re concerned that you might play a larger role?”

            I waved a hand flippantly at him. “As you’ve probably noticed, I _always_ play a bigger role than I’d like to have. I’d just rather that role have nothing to do with helping Miraak.” I could feel myself involuntarily grinding my teeth. “Arrogant bastard. I’d rather be helping drive a sword through his neck.”

            We dropped the conversation. Neloth was absorbed in whatever he was talking about and I hadn’t been following. Dust kicked up all around us what with three people climbing up and around the rocks and ash. I didn’t know how Neloth ran around without anything covering his face. There was so much dust that by the time we made it to the coast, my cape was still flinging ash around me. We were coming around to the hook of the shore when the Dwemer ruins rose up to meet us. All that was obvious were a couple of dilapidated towers emerging from the choppy waters. Passing by some brush, Neloth led us to a staircase and as we ascended I noticed that my observation wasn’t far off. Before I could express my own thoughts, Teldryn gave his.

            “ _This_ is it?” his voice incredulous.

            Neloth looked ready to slap Teldryn’s helm from his head. “Have some respect, ruffian. “This,” he swept his arms wide in a grand gesture, “is the City of a Hundred Towers!”

            I couldn’t tell but Teldryn’s body language looked about as unimpressed as I felt; his arms were crossed and he was looking around at everything but Neloth’s source of fascination.

            “Neloth. Seriously, what are we looking at here?” I asked curtly. His grandiose attitude about this adventure was grating on my nerves.

            “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath before continuing onward without answering me.

            Teldryn looked at me. “Is it just me or do you have the urge to drive your sword through _that_ pompous windbag also?”

            I rubbed the side of my head with two fingertips, already feeling a headache wind its creeping fingers deep inside my head. “Are you two going to cause me problems? I really just want to find this—” Shouts came from up ahead, halting my thoughts. “Oh, sweet Sithis.” I drew my sword and raced forward, reaching a fork in the pass with two ramps. Neloth was already on the tower laughing as lightening shot from his fingertips.

            “Should have known better than to challenge a master wizard of the House Telvanni!” he called out as one of the reavers he was fighting suddenly exploded into dust.

            Another reaver was running down a ramp when I decided to meet him, crouching as he brought his weapon around and caught his abdomen with my sword. I twisted. Blood gushed. His body rolled to the bottom of the ramp. I continued upward and rushed past the make-shift encampment; Teldryn had arrived via the other ramp and Neloth was already making his way to the next level of the structure. A dull metal clank resonated as my boots hit the metal ramp that led up to where Neloth had gone. I had to give the wizard a little credit: his arrogance was not unwarranted. There were dead reavers and remains littered anywhere he’d been.

An arrow flew down by my feet and I immediately turned to the direction of the source, a fire spark readied in my hand. I saw the lone reaver draw back from a high tower and threw the fire at him, causing him to burst into flames and drop into the water.  By the time I reached the main door, Neloth stood waiting with arms crossed and a foot tapping.

“Well, it took you long enough,” he complained.

“Sorry,” I sheathed my sword. “You forgot to mention _the reaver encampment_.”

Neloth ignored me as he walked to a pedestal with a cube placed on top of it. “The Dwemer were infinitely clever; their buildings will outlast us all I daresay.” He motioned to the cube. “The Dwemer of Nchardak were no exception. They were fond of these control pedestals. The last time I was here I modified this one so only I could enter in. Don’t want any _unsavory_ characters looting about in here.”

Neloth subtly made a nodding motion toward something behind me; I briefly looked over my shoulder to find Teldryn making his way to the platform where we were standing. I rolled my eyes. The _very_ last thing I needed were these two at each other’s throats. Dwemer ruins weren’t exactly the kind of place to have a leisurely stay and a pint of ale in. Dealing with two grown men squabbling wouldn’t make that any more pleasant.

Neloth fiddled around with the pedestal and then there was a loud click. “The reading room is just inside here.”

I didn’t waste any time shoving the large, gilded doors open. The scrape of metal against stone created a loud, skin-crawling grating sound but once I had pushed it open far enough, I slid through the gap. The wide doors opened up to a large, circular room that looked characteristically Dwemer. All the metal parts were either gilded or made of bronze and the carvings on them were unforgivingly geometric, sharp angles and lines with not a curve to be found save for carefully constructed circles and arcs. Across the room there was a lever and there were some ruins around the room but little else.

I rubbed my head again. This headache I’d developed was becoming increasingly irksome. “ _Where_ exactly is the book? There’s nothing in here.” My voice echoed in the empty room, bouncing off the metal and stone so the ambient sound became the last words from my mouth. I walked further in and craned my neck to look at the ceiling.

Neloth scoffed, “Under your feet.”

I looked between my boots to find a glass barrier outlined in metal bars. Inside laid a Black Book.

“So tantalizing close…” Neloth cooed. “Mind you, if any magic or force could open that thing, I’d have had the book already.”

As I continued to rub my head, I observed, “So, the hard way then.”

Neloth nodded in reply. “This room runs on a steam supply. If we can restore it then I’m sure I could open this thing.” He tapped the toe of a boot on the glass. “Of course, easier said than done. The boiler room is over here. Follow me,” he began walking to a door near us.

I motioned to Teldryn, “You coming?”

He didn’t budge. “You trust this mad man?” Neloth stopped dead in his tracks and whipped his head around to lock gazes with Teldryn.

“ _What_ did you just utter, you overpaid barbarian?” Neloth hissed.

Teldryn opened his arms as if to invite Neloth to attack him. “You heard me. It’s obvious that you’re going to sit back and do nothing, all the while using either or both of us for whatever experiment you’re running here.”

“How _dare_ you…” Neloth started yelling back.

I couldn’t quite make anything out at that point. My headache began to zing with a high, tinny sound and I could almost make out some unintelligible murmur underneath the sound. I raked my hood back and tore my mask off of my face, throwing it to the ground and hearing a dull, thud as it crashed. The same kind of force that had taken over me in Neloth’s lab was flooding my mind again and I could hear something a little more clearly, soft as a whisper.

_Let us work wonders together. I could show you knowledge few only dream about._

My heart was racing and my palms were sweaty. I was still upright but the yelling behind me was still at a fever pitch. If only I could make those two shut up. Control. I needed control. Need _to control_. I had control; I just needed to exert it. Did I have that knowledge, that power? My mind raced and I could feel myself fall forward. My feet stumbled. I braced myself on a nearby wall, my breathing ragged now. I thought I could hear something behind me but my mind was a white blank. Suddenly, I was prone on the ground again and looking at Miraak, the white light turning into a sick black and green and yellow.

            “ _You have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can wield_ ,” is all I can hear under the thrumming in my head.

            Control. Control. Control.

            I heard something sharper on top of Miraak’s voice reverberating in my head. “ _We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?_ ”

            Miraak. I needed to bend him to my will.

            _Let us work wonders together._

            I heard myself scream in another plane, “I WILL CONTROL YOU, DESTROY YOU! I WILL REMOVE YOU FROM MY PATH! _FUS… RO DAH_!”

            The next thing I knew my mind was clear but a torrent of old metal and chunks of rock replaced the noises in my head. I dropped down and covered my head. Most of the debris flew past but then a sudden rush of pain flood into my arm. I hissed and grabbed it with my opposite hand. Something foreign was embedded in the meat just below my shoulder. When the dust settled, I tentatively stood up and tried to regain my bearings. Both Tedryn and Neloth had fallen flat against the floor but were getting back on their feet.

            They stood there for a moment, wordlessly staring at me. Removing my hand from my arm, I found that a cylindrical piece of metal with the circumference of a large twig had shot straight through my arm. Thoughtlessly, I pulled out the pipe and with each drag against my muscle, a fresh new pain blazed down my arm and up into my chest. The metal was tarnished by thick clumps of blood and what I could swear was a chunk of muscle. As hot as the pain had been, a sudden shock made my blood run cold. Neither of them moved, not that I could blame them.

            I took a second to throw a powerful healing spell over myself. I flexed my arm; it was still sore but no longer injured. The fine ebony mail of my armor on the other hand was ripped clean through on each side. Sweat dripped uncomfortably down my face, my hair plastered to my neck and cheeks. With my bloodied glove I ran a hand through my hair and wiped the sides of my face with the backside of the same hand; I could feel thin streaks of blood drag across my skin.

Neloth opened his mouth as to say something and then promptly closed it again as Teldryn placed a hand on his arm. Neither seemed injured. I walked over to where my mask lay face down. I picked it up and dusted it off. I didn’t put it on immediately though. Despite the pain in my arm and the physical duress I had experienced, it felt _good_ to see the two of them in abject fear of me. I decided to take advantage of the moment.

            “Good to see you two stopped arguing,” my voice sounded coarse and ragged. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

            Sitting on the edge of a console, I watched Neloth explain the pump and boiler system but I wasn’t really listening. His mouth kept moving and he kept placing a cube on and off the pedestal in front of him but everything sounded like I was underwater. Neloth must have noticed when I stopped nodding after everything he said.

            He stomped over toward me, his hands balled and his robe lashing angrily against his legs. “Do not _think_ for a moment that I’m going to forget that little stunt you pulled.” Neloth braced himself on my shoulder as he snatched my mask off and began to probe my face. Frowning, he threw a candlelight spell over himself to illuminate my visage better.

            “Yes, _thank you_ for asking to look at me,” I snapped at him.

            Taking his thumbs he pulled down my cheeks painfully so that the bottoms of my eyelids pulled down as well. “Thank _you_ for nearly killing me.” Neloth’s icy fingers poked and prodded around my cheekbones, jawline and brow line, leaving a cold trace against the bones. “Hmmm. So you said you heard voices?”

            “I didn’t ‘hear voices,’ I actually _heard_ someone. Something. I heard other voices but it felt more like someone telling me what those voices said to me in the past,” Neloth moved his face in closer to mine and I pulled back, “ _Do you mind_?” His mouth was frozen in a permanent, thoughtful twist and his red eyes continued to scan my face for any tells.

            “Yes, I’m the one who should be concerned about _your_ feelings. So sorry for wanting to be certain that you don’t go mad again,” Neloth frowned. “Not that I see anything. Nothing that wasn’t there before anyway.” He shoved my mask into my hands and I scowled as I adjusted it back on my face. “Now pay attention,” he took the cube that he had been fiddling with and snapped it into a mechanism on the pedestal. Suddenly, the floor underneath me shook and I grabbed onto the nearest support. There was a groan and then the sound of a giant drain; the water level around us quickly began to descend.

            “Now,” Neloth snapped his fingers in front of my face to catch my full attention. “These boilers control the room upstairs. They’re shut down but will still respond to the control cubes. If we can find more cubes then we can turn all of the boilers on, thus allowing me to retrieve the Black Book.”

            I cocked an eyebrow, “You mean me.”

            “Yes, yes, whatever pleases you,” he turned and walked toward the main floor of the great chamber. “Bring that cube with you,” he ordered.

            I placed a hand on the cube and, surprisingly, it snapped out easily. The rumble of the floor wasn’t as startling the second time around but the rush of water flooding around us wasn’t a comforting sight. I found Neloth staring at some diagrams on a device. Teldryn was looking at one opposite from it; he hadn’t been as chatty as Neloth had been after my madness passed.

            “See here now,” Neloth continued. “This device shows the location of the four cubes in sections of the city.” I placed the cube in my pouch then I grabbed my journal and a piece of charcoal, furiously sketching out the map. Neloth glanced at me suspiciously but went on. “It looks like we’ll have to travel to the lower levels to find the rest. Interesting.”

            He continued talking about the possibility that the city had sunk prior to the eruption of Red Mountain but I stopped paying attention and went over to Teldryn instead. He was bent over more diagrams and looked to be studying them.

            “You can’t convince me you understand what you’re reading,” I joked lightly. I usually didn’t feel bad for putting my hires in the middle of life-threatening situations but when I admitted to him that I’d thought of him as a friend, it was only half a lie. I’d wanted him to get off my back but the poorly thought out excuse had surprisingly exposed some truth to myself. He was growing on me as someone I could count on.

            Without looking up he replied slowly, “I’m beginning to think that the next time someone wants to hire me I need a checklist. I could start out by explaining, ‘Terribly sorry but my last employer was the Dragonborn and she not only had me killing dragons but it turned out she was being driven mad by a daedric prince.’”

            I hopped up onto the device. Neloth was still muttering to either himself or no one in particular. “Give me some credit, I wasn’t going mad until _after_ I hired you.”

            He looked up at me, his eyepieces covered in a fine sheen of dust. “Question one: are you the Dragonborn? Yes? Well, I suppose that’s alright as long as you don’t have me going after any long dead Dragonborn Oblivion-bent on coming back to life and controlling the world. What? You are? Sorry, I’m unavailable for hire.”

            I reached over and took the pad of one finger to wipe the ash from the goggles. Teldryn gently swiped at me but I was able to clean them off without any further complaint. While I wiped the finger on my cloak I corrected him, “To be fair, I’m the _last_ Dragonborn. No one else could say yes to that. How could you see out of those things? They were so dirty.”

            “Question two: Are you currently in the service of any daedra? Yes? Oh, sorry. My services are actually booked until the next era.”

            I squinted at him. “Is this your way of telling me I’m not paying you enough?”

            After a few months, I’d gotten good at piecing together the tells of Teldryn’s body to put a story to his actions; the subtle shift of weight in legs or the way his clothes creased showed the feelings underneath all those actions. His body was either as subtle as a cave bear or as imperceptible as an invisibility spell. This time it was the latter: I couldn’t tell what was running through his mind. He turned fully toward me and crossed his arms in a slow, deliberate motion.

            He drew in a deep breath and then followed with, “ _M’sera_ , let me ask you something.”

            I rolled my eyes and made my finger draw circles in the air, beckoning him to get on with it.

            “Let’s say that you and I were the other and you had to deal with me,” he explained.

            “I get it. Put myself in your shoes.” This was getting tiresome.

            “Imagine you had to deal with a difficult, reckless person who is usually dangerous when they’re fully capable. Then imagine that they started losing control of that capability,” his voice trailed into an upward inflection as if implying a question.

            I sighed, not wanting to do this right now. “Listen, this isn’t something I can help. At least right now. Given the chance I’d trade anything to get rid of… whatever’s going on,” I threw up a finger as he tried to open his mouth.“ _But_ I can’t. If you’re worried, concerned, frightened or…whatever, just leave.” I fanned out my arm, making an arc from myself to the exit.

            Suddenly, he grabbed both of my shoulders and lightly shook me as he muttered, “ _What is wrong with you_?”

            I was a little shocked but mostly annoyed. “I _understand_. Do you think I’m an idiot? You don’t think this worries me more than _slightly_? It _does_ but nothing good is going to come about me sitting around and fretting on about it like some grandmother. I need to get on with what I’ve come here to do.”

            His hands were still on my shoulders. I brought my own up to meet his and pulled them gently off. I couldn’t quite tell if it was him or me that ended up lingering a little too long when we moved our hands to separate.

            “Cheer up, Teldryn. I’ve been through much worse.”

            I couldn’t tell if the knot forming in the pit of my stomach was from the dishonesty or from my own slow-growing fear.

* * *

 

            Dwemer ruins weren’t exactly famous for their accessibility. Sometimes the most vexing thing was a pile of rubble to climb over while sometimes it escalated to hidden, propeller-like blades popping out of the floor. Right now, it was a hallway that spit out flames from the walls and metal Dwemer spiders that were trying to defend the city after all these years.

            I lazily drove my sword through a spider running up the ramp to meet us. Teldryn had summoned an atronach to take care of some strays while Neloth fussed with a cube on the pedestal at the entrance of the walkway that lay before us. There were streams of fire coming from twin pipes on the walls of the hallway, creating walls of flame that were unavoidable. As soon as Neloth unlocked the cube, the flames stopped streaming.

            We proceeded to walk through an antechamber that opened up into a long, narrow room. It was filled with dirty water but two pipes that came down from the ceiling were supplying the room with a fresh circulation. Two gilded chandeliers hung down and the unearthly glow that shone from them hit the water and made the liquid more opaque. Along the edges lined staircases that led into a number of rooms.

            The only way across was a narrow, concrete bridge that stretched across the room. As we strolled across to the platform on the other side, the water from the ceiling formed a small waterfall around us for a brief moment. The silence was somewhat unnerving; I had purposely been avoiding any unnecessary conversation that would begin to focus on my state of being. Neloth was more interested in running experiments on me while Teldryn wanted me to slow down and be cautious about my actions. Refusing the former was easier than the latter, but I managed to push Teldryn’s concerns from my mind.

            Neloth was taking his time observing the scene. “These must be the workshops of Nchardak.” He was almost tolerable like this, seemingly humbled at the great ruins.

            Teldryn wasn’t as blinded by the greatness. “This water isn’t going to make it easy for us to get around.”

            “It’s like you purposely work to be stupider than you actually are,” Neloth answered him flippantly. To me, “Do you still have the cubes?”

            I nodded as we reached the platform and found two pedestals. I placed the one from the great chamber on one and as soon as it clicked in place a pair of giant cylinders behind us groaned and creaked to life, pumping the water out of the room. Steam intermittently expelled from the giant pumps but nothing dangerous. The water began flooding out of the room at an alarming rate. Once fully drained, I almost gasped at how much had been concealed.

            Almost a whole floor of openings and staircases were visible now; unfortunately, some sentries were also alerted and immediately began rushing toward us as we descended onto one of the staircases. None of us paid any attention, carelessly throwing fire balls and lightning at the spiders and sphere guardians below. Spider workers were only an annoyance in so much that they pinched and poked below the knee caps; sphere guardians weren’t troublesome as long as they were kept at arm’s length. Magic was perfect for both cases. All the awakened guardians began to crumble into heaps of metal, clanking loudly in the empty room.

            “This was a bit easier than I expected it to be,” I commented and descended the stairs to the bottom level. “We should work our way from the ground up and then—”

            As I rounded around the bend to reach the doors on the other side, the floor rumbled beneath me and the sound of steam and metal grinded against one another.

            I froze. “I might have spoken too soon.”

Out from an alcove I could see a giant metal leg step out awkwardly. Centurions were just a larger version of the spiders that ran amok in Dwarven ruins. They moved in rigid angles, making it easy to out maneuver them; in addition, their bulk shielded them from heavy physical damage but it slowed them down. As soon as I saw the steam pour out from the alcove, I turned a heel and hopped down from the ledge into the shallow water leftover from the drainage. As my boot splashed up water around my legs, the centurion saw my motion and tried to follow me down the stairs nearest it.

            Another disadvantage to the centurion defense system is that it was usually limited in its focus. With all of its attention on me and coming down to my level, it wasn’t aware of Teldryn, now a whole level above it. Teldryn took a running start to leap onto the back of the centurion; he dug his heels into the groves of the joints and speared his sword into the neck joint. Twisting the sword in a clockwise motion, Teldryn jerked the sword forward like a lever and the head of the machine flew beside me, splashing a large amount of water. I didn’t waste any time scrambling toward a ledge and climbing to the level I’d been on to move out of the way the falling machine. Teldryn jumped off once the body came close enough to the ground. The centurion hit the water with a crash, water flying at me and Teldryn.

            I stared at him. “Color me surprised.”

            He met me on the walkway with his sword still unsheathed. “I do believe I told you I was the best.”

            I elbowed him and smiled to myself. “I was fairly certain you had been exaggerating that.”

            I didn’t have to see his face to know that he was smirking cockily at me. “I never _exaggerate_.”

            I felt a hot blush creep across my cheeks. Behind us I could hear Neloth clear his throat.

            “If you two are nearly finished, then back to work.” He pushed past us, purposefully knocking into us as if to drive home his point. He stayed two paces ahead, walking toward a control switch on the far wall.

            Teldryn leaned close to me and whispered, “Killjoy.”

            I rolled my eyes, more amused than annoyed, but followed Neloth dutifully. A quick turn of the control cube on the pedestal lifted a metal bridge ahead of us. Underneath the bridge had been another pedestal. I simply hopped down and met the water. I turned the control cube onto the pedestal and a set of stairs began to push up from the ground ahead of the pedestal. As I began to ascend the stairs, I noticed Neloth was staying near the first pedestal.

            “Aren’t you coming?”

            He turned his nose to me. “And dirty myself in this filthy water?”

            I continued without comment and Teldryn followed behind me. There was a winding hallway with a few small rooms in between them. Workbenches with gilded, decorated edges held only small tools, rivets, and cogs. Huge columns stood in corners, looking ominous. A door at the end of the hallway opened into a room with metal bars that created a barrier between the room and where Neloth stood far below. A cube on a pedestal stood before us but I decided to take a moment before releasing it.

            I leaned against a workbench, taking off my head coverings. While I was staring at the cube, Teldryn came up beside me. He took off his helm and commented, “For a race so clever, you have to wonder what happened to them.”

            I shrugged, not in the mood to ponder about their disappearance. “What do I care?”

            An arm reached around me and then settled on my shoulders. “Just making conversation.”

            Unexpectedly, I found myself leaning into the crook of Teldryn’s arm and allowed myself to exhale. I closed my eyes for just a moment.

I heard his voice quietly ask, “Tired?” The low octave of his timbre sent a shiver through my spine.

            “Anyone ever tell you that your armor is horribly uncomfortable?” I shifted my head on the chitin, the nubs and points rolling onto my scalp.

            “Can’t say that I know of many people who’d be foolish enough to use mudcrab to rest their head on.”

             He smelled like the ash; his armor was caked in it but his kerchief and the cloth that hung down off his belt were relatively dust-free. The smell of burnt earth wasn’t altogether unpleasant. I felt him rub his hand down the length of my arm, each stroke hitching as it went against the grain of my armor. It was tempting to look up at his face but I refrained; the last thing I needed was for him to tease me relentlessly. Instead, I focused my attention elsewhere, reaching up and running my hand through his mohawk, sections of it springing up as my hand released it. Teldryn gave me a smile I couldn’t quite decipher.

            “Such an impractical haircut,” I commented.

            He shook his head at me, still smiling. “You worry about a petty thing like a haircut after your troubling problems with madness. Astouding.”

            I suddenly felt self-conscious and my pulse quickened slightly. Now that I had snapped out of my daze, I didn’t know how to explain my actions. They were horribly intimate. I pulled back and began to cover my head and face again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… do whatever I just did.” Teldryn didn’t reply and I didn’t look back to read his face. I was afraid that I might find him either irked or amused. I couldn’t articulate to him how comforting it felt to have someone who could diffuse my nerves for a moment in the middle of some very nasty business.

            I picked up the cube and as the pipes around it began to pump, I called out to Neloth below. “Looks like we can continue.”

* * *

 

            My hand waved wildly in my quiver and I cursed at finding I had no more arrows left.

            One of Teldryn’s arrows loosed and hit one of the mechanic spiders square into the glass dome bod that sparked with electricity. The dome cracked and the spider immediately collapsed into a heap of metal. “Looks like I’m winning now.”

            I smirked. “You’re going to be sorry you talked in me into this.” I flipped a hand upward; with a swish of violet and crackle of void, a bow appeared in my hand. “You’re going to owe me _several_ drinks.” I pulled back on the bowstring and as it met with the arrow rest, an ethereal arrow appeared at the nocking point. I loosed it and hit another spider. “Draw.”

            Teldryn hit another spider, taking quick steps sideways toward me. “Cheater! I’ve never seen such a display—” another arrow hit the same spider, finally felling it, “—of mockery. This is supposed to be a fair competition!” he grunted as he leaped over a spider rushing toward him. Expertly he turned the bow to it and shot it at close range.  

            Neloth was busy trying to figure out how to lower some bridges that were rigged into a puzzle with a set of pedestals. He wasn’t working fast enough in my opinion but voicing it would only bring complaints. Instead I had challenged Teldryn to a game of seeing who could fell the most Dwemer spider workers. I heard Teldryn chuckle as I missed my mark. “Serves you right,” he drawled.

            Suddenly I heard a loud groan. Even though the aqueducts weren’t well-lit I could see the glint of metal as the three bridges lowered in perfect synchronicity. I looked around, suddenly noticing that we’d dispatched all of the spiders. Turning to meet Teldryn, I found him with his arms crossed but his hip slightly cocked. I tossed the conjured bow into the air and it vanished in a fine line of smoke. I punched him playfully in the chest. I could just see the smirk he was wearing.

            “Mad?” he laughed.

            “You won by _one_.” I held up an index finger close to his goggles. “ _One_.”

            He grabbed my wrist and pulled me close, bringing his face so close to my ear that I could almost feel his breath on my neck. “So _very_ reckless,” he whispered, sounding bemused.

            I pulled back my wrist as Neloth’s voice boomed through the room, “If you two are finished!”

            I rolled my eyes. “I’m reconsidering stabbing him. More than once.”

            Teldryn began walking back up the ramp to meet Neloth and I trailed behind a few steps. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that I’ve won.” He wagged a finger at me from behind in mock warning. “You owe me a few rounds.”

            When we reached the control pedestal Neloth clicked one of the cubes we had found and informed me, “I’ll be staying here while you retrieve the final cube.” He sneered. “I _refuse_ to wade in that muck again.”

            I simply nodded, not wanting to argue with him. Teldryn followed me. The system of tunnels that led down seemed innocuous enough and I almost said as much until I felt my foot shift lower than it should have. “Teldryn!” I yelled as I turned and grabbed his arm and yanked him towards me. A set of iron rods suddenly shrieked through where Teldryn had just been standing. Teldryn’s chest heaved slightly, the suddenness having shocked him. I looked behind him. “The entrance is now closed off. Wonderful.”

            Teldryn was still against me, my arms around his waist. I could tell he was smiling from ear to damned pointed ear. “My hero,” he crooned.

            I pushed him off of me and continued forward. “ _You’re welcome_ although I’m regretting saving your neck now.” I quickly rushed forward to a gate and saw a pedestal behind it. My foot fell again and before I could curse, something pulled me back. A set of blades unfolded through the ground and began to spin wildly up and down in front of the gate. I could feel my own breathing become uneven and adrenaline shot through my blood. A second later, I realized Teldryn’s arms were around me.

            “By gods, how do you manage to kill dragons? You can barely keep yourself from getting killed.”

            I tugged away. “I wasn’t going to die,” I countered but made sure to step around the third pressure plate that was near the pedestal. I snatched the cube from the pedestal and heard a rush of water around us.

            “Oh, what a surprise,” Teldryn remarked dryly. I shared the same sentiment. I could breathe underwater with my mask but every time he needed to swim through the length of water-filled tunnels he had to chug a few waterbreathing potions beforehand. Both of us came out waterlogged and dripping.

            As we trudged back toward the sealed entrance, I grumbled, “If we become trapped in here, I hope Neloth drowns in here.”

            Luckily, the iron rods had been triggered by the removal of the cube and we were able to meet Neloth back in the main aqueduct chamber.

            “While you two took your time, I made sure we could finish what we came here to do.” He held up the cube that had activated the bridges.

* * *

 

            “ _Why_ is this never as simple as just finding some cubes and then getting a book?” I moaned as I conjured Arniel Gane to help fight the centurion that had been revealed from behind a stone wall. Teldryn summoned an atronach.

            Neloth streamed a thick cord of lighting at the mechanized monster. “Would you _kindly_ shut up?”

            Arniel followed Neloth’s example and hit it with a barrage of lightning as well. While Teldryn’s atronach attacked, he also hurled fire sparks but was taking his time to aim precisely. I conjured my ethereal bow and arrows again and began to quickly draw back, loosing two or three arrows at a time within a matter of seconds. The centurion slowed slightly but continued to step forward and drive its giant, hammered arm into the ground we were standing on. I almost lost my footing but was able to regain my balance. While we were all tipping over, the centurion took the opportunity to spray a stream of scalding steam in our direction. I turned to block the damage but ended up screaming in pain.

            Teldryn’s atronach burst into flame and Arniel groaned as he dissipated. Both Neloth and Teldryn stumbled backwards. Neloth had been able to create a powerful ward but Teldryn’s armor looked about as bad as I felt. My heart raced and the left side of my body throbbed with each breath I took. My armor held the heat of the burns on my skin and I winced. I stumbled to my feet, half-doubled over and just as the centurion went to attack again I inhaled deeply.

            I reached back and yelled, “ _FO… KRAH DIIN_!” Teldryn and Neloth jumped out of the way just in time as a trail of ice ran across the trajectory toward the centurion. With each second, large ice crystals rose up and eventually the blast hit the centurion immediately dismantling it. One of its artificial limbs lurched forward but angled its step too far over, causing its body to trip and crash onto the floor.

I dropped to my knees and one hand. Balancing myself, I threw several healing spells over to the side of my badly burned body. My ragged breathing steadied itself slowly but surely. I felt a shadow cast over my body.

Glancing up, I found Neloth frowning. “I’ll be in the reading room when you finally decide that you’re finished dragging about.”

I was able to bring myself to me feet. Teldryn was up as well and walking towards me. “I take it back. You don’t pay me enough.”

“Oh, well,” I began following Neloth when Teldryn grabbed me. “Oh, what _now_?”

He took one of his hands and shoved my mask aside while another brought his kerchief down enough so that when he moved in close, his bare lips met my cheek. My heart raced in different way than when I had been burned but all the same I felt my cheeks light aflame as the kiss lingered on the scar that he once asked about. His skin felt so deliciously cool that I had to stop myself from drawing him closer and keeping him there. Instead I pulled back slowly.

He took the pad of his thumb and rubbed gently where his chaste kiss felt branded into my skin. He whispered, “Would you _please_ try staying alive?” I could only wordlessly nod. “I don’t like watching my friends die.” Although the words were formed from his mouth clearly, it sounded odd. He adjusted his kerchief back over the lower half of his face and walked past me, following Neloth.

I could only stare as he calmly sauntered away. With my mask still askew, I slowly raised a hand to my cheek to rub where he had touched me, kissed me. I briefly wondered if he had wanted me to kiss him in return before shaking the thought from my mind and following both of them.

* * *

 

            “Well, I hope this was all worth it,” Neloth complained as I arrived in the reading room. Teldryn was leaning on a wall on the far side of the room and didn’t acknowledge me. The Black Book had been released from its prison and now lay awaiting me on a raised platform. “I’ll let you read it first. You’re already—“

            I reached for the book, “—I get it,” I interrupted. I ran my hand across the familiar looking cover. “ _Epistolary Acumen_?”

            “Don’t overwork your mind, girl,” Neloth backhandedly insulted. “Just read the book.”

            I opened it up and read silently, “Bring you forth the lovestruck mute who preys with vigor on his love—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of small errors made that had to be corrected: verbs, awkward wording, poor dialogue choices, etc. I've never been happy with this chapter, but sometimes driving through plot isn't the most graceful activity. And, of course, more Neloth. I really like writing his character, the arrogant bastard. Some little hints at Morrowind events with Neloth's dialogue at the beginning. Rook's unusual headaches had been foreshadowed back with Frea in chapter... 6? It was a small mention but, nonetheless, the chapters of RoS aren't disconnected from one another. 
> 
> A very special thanks to all of you for reading: Rook of Skyrim has passed over 500 views! Thank you guys so much! A round of gratitude to all of the kind guests who've left some kudos as well as LadyGraceGrey. As usual, a very special and huge thanks to SuFin20 and praeeunt for their too kind and very helpful words of advice. And thanks to all of you for being so patient with my wild schedule. I understand I don't put out at the frequency that other authors do so thank you for being patient. Please, don't be afraid to ask me how things are going or when the next update might be. Next time: another Teldryn chapter. See you guys then! -Ash


	15. Teldryn Interlude III

            A writhing mass of oily tentacles snapped from the book and whipped around Rook; she didn’t flinch like I did. One minute she was completely there and the next the tentacles had ripped part of her from her form. What remained was a half-there specter—a silent ghost stuck reading the book mindlessly.

            “What the…?” I gasped, pushing myself up off the wall I’d been leaning against. I tip-toed around the almost-Rook. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

            Neloth stood beside the pedestal the book had been laying on, his arms crossed and his mouth pursed in contemplation. “Yes, well it seems that travel to Oblivion is dependent upon which plane you wish to visit.”

            I stared at him, then at Rook, and then back at Neloth. I removed my helm and pushed my hair back. “You mean to tell me that the book is a way to Oblivion? She’s _in_ Oblivion?”

            “Hermaeus Mora’s slice of it anyway.” He stretched out an arm but before he could wave his hand through her, I grabbed his wrist.

            “ _What_ are you doing?” I shouted.

He yanked his arm out of my grasp. “I could ask the same of you!” Neloth grimaced and I thought he might actually take a swing at me. “I don’t know what your… _fascination_ is with this outlander, but I suggest you stop letting it interfere with _my work_.”

            “Your _work_?” I almost wanted him to attack me now so I’d have an excuse to hit him.

            He sneered at me, his nostrils flaring. “Well, if it pleases you, stand here all day.” He began to walk away, flippantly waving a hand in my direction. “I have plenty to keep me occupied. You? You might be waiting on your _m’sera_ for Oblivion knows how long.” He settled into examining a control pedestal, fiddling with its parts.

            Neloth could bed a horker for all I cared but he was right. I had no idea how long Rook would be away. I settled into a place on the floor and yanked off the sections of my armor that had taken serious steam damage. Parts of the chitin were warped and some sections needed a new coat of resin to seal up cracks and reinforce some of the edges. I’d only brought enough supplies to do a shoddy patch job but it would have to do until I saw Mallory again. Though the thought of that made my stomach light again, wondering what it was that he and Rook had to speak privately about. They’d made a habit of stealing away each time we had to visit him. Once, while I was busy repairing a section of my gauntlet, she went to the local abandoned mine and strong-armed an old-looking pick axe from someone. When Rook returned, Glover was more than all smiles and compliments. Even more suspicious, she seemed more open around him as if they shared something that she and I didn’t.

            I almost had to laugh at the thought that I might be a little jealous. I liked her well enough but the idea that I could be upset if Glover was attracted to her was completely mad. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind of the thought. I liberally smeared resin onto a crack and nicked my fingertip on the chitin. I cursed under my breath but it certainly wasn’t the worst of my wounds. My armor blocked most of the steam but parts of my body still burned red even after a healing spell. I doubted my injuries were worse than Rook’s though. When the steam hit her, she screamed out like a hargraven, the chilling sound echoing off the chamber and the water.

            I had never been so worried about someone in all of my life. It was ridiculous. The woman didn’t have a death wish but she certainly didn’t dispel the image either. When Rook set her mind to a goal, she was blinded from all else. She ran around half-cocked and self-assured—completely unaware of the limbs and life she risked. I was more than a little surprised at times that the worst of her past injuries were the scars on her chest.

            My fingers glided over the edge I had just sealed back together, debating on whether or not I want to reinforce the plate with my last bit of spare chitin when I heard Neloth’s voice cut through the room.

            “You! Over here!” he sharply ordered.

            I didn’t look up. “If you can’t be bothered to remember my name, you could at least ask a bit more nice-like.”

            I thought I heard a sharp intake of breath from across the room and I smirked knowing I had vexed him. “ _Fine_. Over here, _please_.” There was a pause as I leisurely took my time getting to my feet. He then added, “Ruffian.”

“ _What_?” I asked.

            “Do you see this?” he pointed to some writing on the pedestal that I couldn’t make sense of.

            “I’m not blind.”         

            He ignored the comment. “It appears that if I were to adjust this part of the apparatus, I could have the boilers reduce the water level even _further_. The diagram from the great chamber had a section that didn’t make sense but this must be it. It looks as if you could reach it now.”      

            I arched a brow, frowning. “What exactly do you mean by _that_? I’m not your errand boy.” I crossed my arms.

            “No? I’m sure you’ll go if it meant helping her,” he motioned toward almost-Rook.

            I tried to keep my face from showing any emotion but I felt some of the muscles in my face betray me. “ _Fine_ , but first you tell me _how_ you’re going to help her.”

            “Isn’t it obvious? She’s succumbing to Hermaeus Mora’s influence,” he shrugged. “Or Miraak’s. Either way, I doubt she’d be happy to know that you wouldn’t do one _small_ task to help her.”

            “This is beginning to sound less like a favor and more like blackmail,” I observed. 

            “Call it what you’d like. I want you to go down into the chambers that will drain once I fix this,” he pointed to the pedestal. “And bring back whatever you find. I’m sure I can use it in my research.”

            I threw up my hands, “Well, _why not_? It’s not like you’re forcing me to.”

            He raised an eyebrow. “I’m _not_.”

Feeling my face heat up, I threw on my helm and replaced my kerchief. “Where do I go?” Hopefully, a change a subject would attract his attention elsewhere.

            Neloth deftly glided his fingers over the mechanism, activating some panels and deactivating others. Once satisfied with whatever he had tweaked, he took a cube and handed it to me. “Go down to the great chamber and place this on whatever free pedestal is down there. It should drain whatever water is left and then you go and do…” he took a hand and twirled it around his head, “…whatever it is that you _do_. If you find any books or Dwemer artifacts, return them to me.”

            I nodded and went to put my armor back on, securing the straps and latches that I had just repaired. Once finished, I walked to the elevator and squeezed the lever in the center of the platform. There was a momentary lurch and then a groan, as the platform creaked down back to the chamber. As it landed on the ground floor where a set of pedestals awaited me at the far end, I found myself thinking back to what I had tried to tell Rook the first time we’d waited on Neloth here. She said she understood but continued on in Nchardak recklessly. How long until another fit of madness overwhelmed her? Two outbursts in such a short span of time spelled out trouble but we’d gone without incident since the force she’d unleashed upon the small room. Well, no incident from Rook anyway; I was certain that she probably had some words for me about that kiss. It was presumptuous, disrespectful. She was injured and I’d taken it upon myself to take advantage of a moment to act on an impulse. I wasn’t sure I had any better excuse for her other than an attempt to reach out, comfort her.

            But then she’d argue that there were better ways of doing that besides removing something she always wore and kissing her. No matter how chaste the action, she’d be right. I put it out of my mind. Rook could be upset at me when she came back. Right now, I wanted Neloth to help her.

            As I placed the cube on the pedestal, the last of the water drained out; a few of the now-exposed tunnels were obscured by rubble and metal but one remained clear.

            “He’d better keep his mouth shut once I come back empty-handed,” I muttered to myself.

            I carelessly stepped down from the ledge and landed hard into the residual water left standing on the stone floor. There wasn’t enough to reach my ankles but my boots sloshed around as I trudged toward the tunnel emtrance. “Gods damned, wizard.”   

            As I made my way down the dark tunnel, I began to sorely miss Rook and her variety of spells; she claimed only average talent but I couldn’t help but admire the way she easily threw around conjuration and destruction spells. I had a feeling there was more to her story about abandoning formal magic study than simply losing interest. I conjured an atronach and could almost hear Rook’s teasing voice, “You miss your maid?”  She’d have a good laugh and I’d try desperately to hide my ever-growing smile.

            The still water echoed in the narrow tunnel as I stomped through the now illuminated darkness, my feet doing their best to avoid large rumble and debris. We hadn’t come upon any trouble so far but the atronach was working well as a light, its form softly blurring around the edges of its temporary body. When we reached the end of the tunnel, I was more than impressed with the chamber. The large stone room was gilded in runes around the edges but held several chests lined the back.

            “Well, hello there,” I sang as I moved toward the first chest.

            My atronach noticed something off first. From the side of one wall, a golden arch opened up to reveal a sphere guardian. As it rolled forward, the atronach pelted it with fire and I unsheathed my sword. I rushed forward and, dropping to one knee, was able to torque my waist in such a way that my sword flew through the body of the guardian. Its lower part kept moving forward with the last of its momentum but the upper half fell over with a heavy thud. The atronach spun around in an almost happy manner and continued to float around. I went back to the chest I had my eye on and tried to pry it open; of course, it was locked.

            While I picked the lock, it was hard to keep my mind from wandering back to Rook. Equally, I missed having her power around. I would be the first to admit that no amount of gold or beauty could ever undermine the power that pure, raw force held. Rook held the purest and rawest I’d ever encountered aside from my recent brush with dragons. But it also made her terrifying at times. Add to that a distinct lack of control and the prospect of her power became a nightmare made in Oblivion—her madness wasn’t something I could easily forget about either. The spells of cloudy incomprehension when it began made her completely unreachable. Once it began, the only sensible thing to do was to get away as far as possible from her. If Neloth didn’t keep up his end of the bargain, I was going to make sure he conveniently ended up as a dragon’s supper. 

            I heard the lock click and I shoved the lid open. I doubted Neloth would miss a few gems and a handful of coins. I pocketed the paltry find and moved on. Another of the chests held a few books that I thumbed through and found uninteresting. Dreading the idea of having to carry back a whole library, I opened the last chest unenthusiastically. There wasn’t much inside save for a few pieces of paper with scratches and scribbles and a few pieces of jewelry. I had little talent for appraisal; Rook could expertly deem something worthless or valuable at the blink of an eye and end up being right about the price we could fetch for them. Once, at the Retching Netch, I’d asked her about it.

            “So how is it that a young dragon hunter knows so much about the ways of a merchant?”

            I think she almost spit out the ale she’d been drinking. “Young? I’ve seen about sixty seasons.”

            I’d rolled my eyes. She kept so many things from me; her exact age was one of many guessing games I played when we drank. “That wasn’t the important part,” I reined her in.

            Rook had taken another deep sip and shrugged, “How did you get so good with your blade?”

            I remember wondering if she was mocking me before slowly responding, “Practice.”

            I could tell she had been smiling widely underneath her black, cloth mask as she replied, “Well, there you have it, my friend.”

            The pendant looked like it might fetch a decent price; it was made of gold and inlaid with tiny rubies. A little tarnished but I was certain that Fethis would buy it if I gave him a good story about traversing through a Dwemer ruin to go along with it. The ring, on the other hand, looked completely worthless save for a soft glow that wrapped around it. The band was plain silver with no gem embedded in its body. Behind me I heard my atronach dissolve, crumbling into a pile of fire salts. I sighed as darkness engulfed me again. I summoned another atronach and went back to looking at the ring.

            Again my mind wandered back to Rook. I often caught her thumbing a silver ring on her left hand, an amethyst shining brightly in the center and strange markings engraved around the gem.

            “What’s that?” I once asked, genuinely curious. “From a lover?”    

            “Would that bother you, Teldryn?” she teased.

            I remember getting closer to her and smiling underneath my kerchief. “Only if _we_ were sharing a bed,” I teased back.

            Watching her try to hide her embarrassment had become somewhat of a pass time for me only because Rook was more successful at ruffling my nerves than I was at hers. Each time she carelessly undressed in front of me I had to hold back my desire to simply tell her that she was, in fact, quite fair in her own way. Strikingly, Rook seemed oblivious to her own appearance; she didn’t cringe at blood and wouldn’t shy away from jumping headfirst into the dirtiest of battles. Each time she let down her defenses, showed vulnerability, I always had to hold back any soft words. Rook was all angles and steel; anything that made her think of herself otherwise would be met with heavy opposition.

            I couldn’t begin to guess how the ring was enchanted but put it on, hoping to guess based on however it altered myself or the sphere around me. Sometimes enchantments were more useful when the effects were latent but I felt no change after putting it on. Walking out of the chamber, my atronach and I traversed the tunnel and back out to the great chamber. Luckily, the atronach decided to break apart just as we exited, allowing the fire to disperse prettily into the water. I climbed back onto the main floor, juggling an armful of books and loose paper. I breathed a sigh of relief when I could finally take the elevator back up to Neloth.

            Hearing the platform rise up, he must have decided to meet me at the door. “That took you long enough. What did you find?”

            “Are you always so grateful?” I attempted to joke with him. He simply glared at me in response. “Here, some books and a few scraps of paper.”

            He snatched them from me as a child would a toy from another child. “Well, I’m glad to see you didn’t _completely_ muck it up.” He began to pour through the top book when I stopped him.

            “You know a good deal about enchantments?” I interrupted.

            “What part of _master enchanter_ escapes you, lout?” he spit out.

            Neloth made it _so_ very difficult to not draw my sword. “Well then, _master enchanter_ , tell me about this,” I slid the ring off of my pinky and shoved it into his bony, clammy hand.

            Making some indistinguishable noise he turned the ring over in his fingers, folding it back and forth. Neloth finally scoffed out what sounded like a laugh. “Here,” he handed it back to me.

            I yanked it from his thumb and index finger. “That’s it? I thought you knew what it was.”

            “Oh, I _do_ , but I’ll let you figure it out for yourself.”

            I threw my hands at him in frustration and gave up. “Worthless,” I grumbled in frustration. Neloth ignored me and continued to pour over his books. I couldn’t help but pace back and forth, my impatience made worse by Neloth’s lack of cooperation. When I was able to burn off my excess energy, I found a place on the wall to lean against and finally slide down. My knees rose up against my chest as a result and I allowed myself to relax, resting my arms against my now bent legs.

            And I waited. Neloth had his books, the ruins. I had only the memory of the impromptu kiss I had given to Rook but I would swear to any god that it was far more satisfying than whatever Neloth had found.  He made sounds of amusement but my own musings had my mind wandering into unexpected places. It raced back and forth, not allowing me to forget the lines of her collarbones where her scars sunk in or how her hands would tame her dark, wild hair. It betrayed me, forcing me to remember how her skin smelled like sulfur but tasted like honey—spice and fire. And had my mind stopped there, admiring her, then I wouldn’t have been concerned. I’d spent plenty of time in my life thinking about a beautiful man or woman. But it didn’t. Instead I began to wonder what her hands might make of _my_ hair. And then I started to think about what her mouth tasted like if her skin left such a pleasant aftertaste on my lips. And then…

            …and then I had to stop. _I_ was sounding mad now.

I glanced at her half-there form.

            And I waited.

             

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Teldryn chapter! Changes that were made: made some decisions about foreshadowing, dialogue choices, and made sure that Neloth had better insults for the poor mercenary. Now that the plot is more fleshed out beyond "kill Miraak," I realized I didn't allow Teldryn time to really process what's happening to this woman whose life is much, much more complicated than a regular patron. Not only that, but there's some dialogue with himself that might prompt questions as to his background--a kiss on the cheek doesn't usually prompt such criticism (although it should). That won't be addressed in RoS but it is something I added now that I'm more familiar with Teldryn. 
> 
> Updates! I was trying to get chapters out once a week but I realized that wasn't allowing readers to catch up fast enough (especially those who might be kind enough to leave comments). So, I'm working on a sort of "benchmark" system. For this update, I waited until about 600 views were reached and for the next maybe 750. It seems like it's about two weeks for that to roll around and that takes a lot of stress off of me. Unless that system stops working reliably, I'll let the view counter be my guide.
> 
> Thanks! Super special thanks goes out to the ever vigilant and helpful SuFin20 (you make MY day whenever you leave comments!). And gratitude all around to all of the kind guests who've left kudos since the last update.
> 
> Next chapter? We're in Apocrypha, we meet Hermaeus Mora, another dragon, and some down time with Rook and Teldryn. Until then! -Ash


	16. Tend the Soil

Ironically, I felt more clear-headed and lucid surrounded by all the sickly-sounding oil. The green-yellow sky added a feeling of nausea though. It was a different part of Hermaeus Mora’s plane than from where I’d met Miraak but there was no uncertainty—old rotted books, stone and webbing made up the architecture. Apocrypha. What I hoped were only facsimile busts of lurkers held balls of light, illuminating the sick patches of slick oil in a way that reminded me of looking into a dead dragon’s glossy eye.

            I slowly appraoched a podium that held what looked like a plant, afraid something might bite my fingers off. Before I could examine it, a voice above me boomed. I flinched but only slightly.

            “Hello again, my champion. I knew the Oghma Infinium would not sate your desires.” The voice sounded like it was underwater but it also rang out clear. Out from a dark blotch in the sky, a tangle of tentacles curled around themselves until the ends of the arms began to float around the edges. It kept untangling and tangling so the form pulsated and a thousand tiny eyes opened and popped closed continuously. The center opened lazily to reveal a larger, more stable eye that was intently focused on me.

            “Always a pleasure, Hermaeus,” I motioned around me. “Nice place.”

            “Indeed. This is Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded.”

            “Wonderful, if I could—”

            Hermaeus interrupted, “Peruse the endless stacks of my library but take care to not damage anything. I would be so… _disappointed_.”

            With that the mass and the other forms around him folded in on themselves and disappeared back into Oblivion. I huffed and touched the light on the podium, too irritated by the conversation to care about the consequences. As a curled bridge unfurled, I tried to ignore the fact the Prince intended to keep me here longer than I wanted to be but it was also hard to resist the temptation to look for answers. They _were_ here—a fact. Hermaeus Mora knew that mortals under any degree of his influence could easily be lured with the promise of knowledge and an eternity to pursue it. I would have to exert some level of self-control to make sure I didn’t get stuck in here, reading until the Tenth Era. Focusing on the ways I would kill Miraak served to help motivate me.

            The bridge was partially submerged in the oil so thin, slick tentacles would occasionally whip out and snap at my ankles. Not so much painful as it was annoying but I had to wait to continue because the end of the bridge was connected to a moving tunnel made of books that fanned out in an arch in the oil. When it creeped past me again, I jumped in and regained my balance. It was straight shot through the other side but whirlwinds of old paper flying around cut into my fingertips when I tried to swat them away. The other side of the bridge had to be lowered by another plant-like switch on another platform but nothing had been a large hindrance so far. The only thing awaiting me on the other side was a book.

 I threw up my hands, ready to chuck the thing into endless sea of oil. “This is beginning to be more trouble than it’s worth,” I grumbled as I began to read. I found myself feeling woozy. The letters began to blur and my eyes were drying out. When I finally realized that I hadn’t blinked in several minutes, I painfully forced my eyes to do and I teared up. Looking around me, I realized I was in a different place altogether. Turning around, I found myself in another tunnel filled with pages twirling around of their own volition. While I ducked through, Teldryn suddenly crossed my mind.

I touched a light flanked by two lurker busts and, when the tunnel blossomed around me, it opened into an area with two large lurkers and a floating creature I couldn’t identify. There was no thought to it. I snapped my fingers and threw out Arniel. While he distracted them, I stayed back and loosed arrows from my quiver. But, despite the fighting, I still felt Teldryn’s lips on my cheek, the pressure of the action a vivid memory. The floater went down easily enough but the two lurkers still had their sights on Arniel. My arrows flew but none seemed to land the final blow. Grabbing another arrow, I tried to pin down why I found Teldryn so amenable. When I first met him, he was simply tolerable and capable. But now? I shook my head. No good answer and I had bigger problems to solve at the moment.

I loosed a final arrow into one of the lurkers’ eyes and it fell easily.

Arniel vanished and I quickly replaced him with a flame atronach but the last lurker had already set its sights on me. There was enough room to jog around from the tentacles that sprang up each time the beast took a step. I certainly wasn’t willing to face it head on with a blade but I had more than that. I flipped my wrists toward the ground and threw lightning runes on the ground as I gave it chase. After each step the lurker took, a brilliant flash of lightning cracked and engulfed the monster behind me. With the last rune, it propelled forward and the dead body crashed to the ground.

My chest rose and fell unevenly, my hands shook. The atronach floated to meet me. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Teldryn’s girlfriend, would you?” The atronach stared at me, emotionless. “Or maybe you _are_ and I’m interrupting something.” The atronach kept its fiery gaze on me and seemed to know what I was thinking. “You’re right, I need to stop talking to myself. Not healthy.”

            With the creatures dispatched, I looked around. All that was present was another book on a pedestal. I winced at the idea that my eyes would dry out again but read it anyway. It felt like it took longer to snap out of the book’s spell but when I did, discovered floors made of stacks and stacks of old papers and the pathways outlined with fencing made of metal webs. Yet another new place. A perimeter of impossibly tall webbed arches outlined the entire area, seemingly looming in the horizon. With each step it became harder and harder to resist pulling a book out of the endless stacks and settling on one of the benches. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see what I could find out about Miraak here. Perhaps taking a moment to find just _one_ book would actually help me. I could finish my task sooner rather than later. I laughed aloud.

If Teldryn were here he would be telling me how insane that sounded. Probably because it _was_ insane—absolute madness. Other podiums looked like the switches I had been using but the light grew out and curved inward and upward to make something that looked like lampposts. The paths twisted and turned, stairs led upward and downward. A few floating creatures seemed to be combing through the stacks of books, seeking out something that they couldn’t find. I carefully crouched behind and around stacks, drawing my bowstring and loosing arrows from afar. I noticed some of them created decoys and made a note of it.

            For a very long while, I trudged through papers. There were several sets of stairs that were so steep that it seemed like climbing walls so I conserved my energy and took them slowly, one by one. My mind wandered back to Teldryn and I smiled a little at the thought of returning back to Solstheim. I sort of missed the way flickers of amusment stayed lit behind his eyes, a smirk teasing at the corners of his mouth. It seemed like he was constantly entertained by something no one else had knowledge of. The rest of his body gave more clues to his easy-going nature—his walk always a relaxed swagger and one of his arms always resting lazily on the hilt of his sword when neatly housed in its sheath. I then frowned at the way he didn’t seem so amused at what was happening to me. Watching his face lose levity only reminded me of how I felt. My preference was to ignore what was going on and focus on the now.

            Unsurprisingly, Apocyrpha was horribly dull. I never imagined Hermaeus Mora as indulgent as Sanguine. The misty grove that Sanguine had eventually led me to after a few days of perpetual inebriation had been gorgeous, low lit and intimate. I couldn’t quite remember but I think I spent a few weeks drinking in that particular pocket of Oblivion; the last thing I remember was Sanguine disguised as a mortal asking me about a ring I’d yanked back from a hargraven. There might have been a goat or a giant or both involved. Either way, Apocrypha was nothing but old books and twisting tunnels and sick, sick oil slicks.

            I found another book to read and braced myself. Once I was able to look away again, I discovered myself high above everything around me. I was on a round platform with only a small pool of oil snapping at my ankles and a plant-like switch I had started calling scryes. I touched it and a bridge of webs began to spin and unfurl in front of me. It blossomed like a flower and a section lifted up from the platform I was standing on. I took careful steps up to the center of the blossom, finding only a closed book. I read the title: _Epistolary Acumen_.

            “Again?” I asked.

            An unexpected reply came from the sky. “Well done, my champion. I had no doubts your thirst for knowledge would lead you to me again.”

            I sighed. “Just tell me what you want _this_ time.”

            Daedra weren’t of Mundus so reading their emotions, if any, was difficult. Despite this, I could swear that the large, lazy eye squinted in a smile. “Why it was _you_ who came here. It was _you_ who sought out _me_. Why? Because _you_ need from me what only one other person has.”

            I shifted uncomfortably. “True.”

            “Dragonborns are always my _favorite_ servents,” he crooned. “Always so deliciously insolent but always so willing to seek out dangerous, forbidden knowledge.”

            “ _Fine_ ,” I grumbled. Hermaeus Mora wanted to hear my intentions aloud. “I came here to learn what Miraak knows. I need to know what he knows so I can stop him.”

            Again, a queer looking smile. “All he knows he learned from me.”

            I had no response but simply kept my gaze fixed upon him.

            “I know you, Dragonborn, as I knew the first; you seek to bend the world to your power. To dominate. To control. Like the dragons before you.”

            Again, I had no good reply.

            This time I _knew_ he was smiling. “Here.” A swirl of bright stranded light wrapped around me, starting at my feet and winding upwards, momentarily blinding me. While it was dissipating from my field of vision, he continued. “The knowledge you needed, despite not knowing you needed it.”

            “ _HAH_?” I asked. “A word of power?”

            “Oh, my champion, it is the power to bend mortals to your will,” his tentacles swirled lazily, dark blotches fading in and out. “Did you think you could stand against Miraak with only the stones listening to you?”

            “Easy enough,” I waved out my hands in gratitude. “If that’s all then just direct me out of here.”

            “Oh, certainly you’re clever enough to know it’s never easy. Miraak knows the final word of power. Without it you are without hope to surpass him.”

            I pulled my mask back, lowered my hood. His gaze met mine directly and I could almost feel him trying to _literally_ read my face. Mortals like me were about as foreign of an object to daedra as a book or tome was for a wild animal. I could feel myself searching the one eye for some hint but fell short. “Why are _you_ so interested in whether or not I surpass Miraak?”

“Miraak served me well and was rewarded justly. I will grant you the same reward, the same knowledge but for a price.”

            I bit the inside of my cheeks so hard they started to bleed. He wasn’t going to answer me. And now the issue of payment. Everything had its price. “I’ll pay whatever you want for the final word but I’m not giving you a gods damned thing for the word you just handed me. We had no agreement.”

            Hermaeus briefly looked like a frown, “Can I not reward my champion with small morsels?”

            I squinted, suspicious. “Fine. Don’t tell me what your plan is. What’s the price for what Miraak knows?”

            “The Skaal have been diligent in keeping a choice piece of esoteric knowledge from me for many, many years. I am not pleased about this, my champion.”

            “The Skaal?” My eyes widened. “What could those nature-loving, religious fools be hiding from you? A thousand ways to gut a horker?”

            I didn’t expect Hermaeus to laugh but he sounded a little amused at my comment. “Always so deliciously insolent.” But then he became serious. “I need that knowledge.”

            I was beginning to put the pieces together. “And the price of the final word is to get that knowledge from them.”

            “So very clever, my champion,” his voice oozed.

            Thoughtlessly, I lost my temper, “Do _not_ patronize me.” I instantly braced myself to lose a limb but instead Hermaeus continued to simply pulsate and turn in on himself in several dark blotches. My resolve weakened a little.

            “I _know_ you will give me what I want and in return you will receive the knowledge you seek.”

            There was only one response to that, “Of course.”

            Bringing the conversation to a close he finished with, “Bring the shaman to me, champion.” He folded in on himself tightly and all the blotches vanished, leaving me alone in the sky on a pedestal made of metal webbing save for the book. I was fairly certain that reading it would return me to Solstheim. Opening it, I found living writing swirling and trailing in dimensions into the page. Without any effort I was absorbed into the book.

* * *

 

            I stumbled back as the book fell from my hands. “Dear gods, that is _never_ going to be pleasant.” My stomach felt light and my head was swimming.

            Neloth had been reading while Teldryn was settled in a spot on the floor, polishing and tending to his weapons and armor. Neloth reached me first. “Well, what happened?” As he went to grab my face I stepped back.

            “I’m feeling better, no need for that.” I voluntarily uncovered my face to prove all was well. “Hermaeus Mora and I had a chat. I didn’t die so that means it was successful.”

            Neloth moved forward, still trying to get a good look at my face. “Hmm. You still look about the same.” I frowned at that. “Well, out with it. He must have wanted something.”

            I shrugged. I watched Teldryn wordlessly examine me. His helm was on the floor, but his face was unreadable at the moment. “Of course he does. There’s something going on underneath all of this but it looks like he’s making sure that I can surpass Miraak. He gave me something I needed at no cost.”

            “Suspicious.”

            “ _Very_.” I retrieved the book off the floor and placed it in my pouch. “But he didn’t give me _everything._ In exchange for some piece of knowledge the Skaal have, he’s promised to complete my knowledge of the main power Miraak seems to wield.”

            Neloth laughed, “That’s it? Sounds like a bargain to me.”

            Teldryn finally spoke up, “Skaal could stand to put in a bit more effort to this cause.”

            I shook my head. “I give the Prince the secret to making a warm coat and I’ll be able to haul Miraak’s arse off the nearest mountain.” I slammed a fist into an open palm, the slap of the leather echoing softly in the chamber.

            “Yes,” Neloth said thoughtfully, “And you’ll be one of the most powerful Dragonborns that ever lived.”

            It was strange. That thought ran through me and the electricity of the idea filled me with an unfamiliar thrill. A spark hit my mind and a dull headache began to grow underneath my better judgment. I brought a hand up to my head and cursed. Teldryn must have noticed.

            “It’s starting again.” Not a question.

            I waved at him. “It’s nothing.”

            I watched Teldryn glance at Neloth, giving him some look I couldn’t decipher. “Oh, _allow_ me to see what I can do,” Neloth drolled with a hint of sarcasm. “Come here, girl.”

            I didn’t know what was going on but I complied. “You two getting along has me worried.”         

            “Believe me,” Teldryn assured, “there was no getting along involved.”

            Neloth didn’t touch me but he waved his hands around and down the length of me, a bright and harsh orange glow radiating from his hands. I waved some of the light from my face, irritated. “You two need to stop. I’m fine and we need to get going.”

            Neloth flared his nostrils in frustration. “You’re _welcome_. That should help settle whatever madness is overcoming your mind. For now.”

            As I walked to the door that led outside, I had to admit my head did feel a little better. Teldryn and Neloth followed close behind. I pushed open the door and had to shield my eyes with my arm from the bright light. I heard the flap of large wings before I felt the air it pushed on me.

            “By Malacath’s toe, where did _that_ come from?” Neloth’s voice sounded more than a little concerned.

            My eyes adjusted to see the dragon fly around once before landing in front of us, shaking the ground beneath our feet. It took a large step forward, its face now in front of me. Its hot breath swelled oppressively. I could reach out and touch the fangs coming out of its mouth if I felt so inclined. Teldryn started unsheathing his sword, but I placed my hand on his arm to stay him. The dragon wasn’t attacking.

             “ _Zu’u Krosulhah_ ,” his mouth widened wickedly, introducing himself. “Miraak has commanded your death. So shall it be.”

            _Miraak_. The scene was in slow motion. I watched Krosulhah open his mouth and in the same moment I felt my mouth reflexively shout, “ _JOOR… ZAH FRUL_!”

            The temporary drag on his soul must have startled him because he exclaimed, “ _Bein Rotmulaag_! No _dovah_ would stoop to such vile _tahrovin_.”

            I didn’t let his insult slow me. I drew my sword. I vaulted onto his head using his own snout and then drove my blade as deep as I could into his skull. The Nords didn’t dream and sing about the Dragonborn for ages because I was lucky. Being the _Dovahkiin_ meant I had the ability to fight better against dragons specifically. This meant that when I set my sights on driving my sword into one it went deeper than any other mortal would be able to accomplish. If I tried driving my sword through anything else’s bones, I’d probably end up breaking my own.

            I felt the skull crack underneath but then I heard an entirely different kind of breaking. The dragon had swung and bucked around so much that my sword couldn’t take the force and it broke in half. I flew off with one half of the blade and rolled back onto my feet as it took to the skies. “Bastard,” I grumbled. I glanced down at the hilt in my hand before throwing it to the side.

            Teldryn and Neloth hadn’t been standing back idly during my time fighting it. Both resorted to attacking with magic. Once the dragon took off, Neloth continued to fight with lightning and Teldryn switched to a bow and arrow. I quickly conjured my own set, not wanting to waste time pulling off my own bow. I watched arrows magically appear in the nocking point as I loosed them. It glided lazily around us, sending a stream of flame erratically our way. I jumped out of the way as the flames trailed past me and I loosed another arrow. 

Teldryn’s usual summon was in mid-spell when the flames destroyed it. I threw the conjured bow away and immediately curled my hand, forming a long and thick icy spear. I threw it back with all the force I could muster and simultaneously shouted, “ _FO… KRAH DIIN_!” The ice froze its wings and its tail was now weighed down with a thick crust of frost. The dragon whipped back and forth, crying out in distress. It was not long for this world so when Teldryn hit it with a powerful stream of fire, it stopped flying altogether and spiraled head first into the sea.

            The mass of the beast hurled it magnificently into the waters around us. Had it been farther out it might have looked impressive. Closer to it, all I saw was a wall of water fly upwards and a second later, it came back down with an equally impressive force down upon us. Neloth was able to throw a barrier over himself in time but Teldryn and I were subject to a steady downpour of water for more than a few seconds.

Once it was over, he glanced at me and shrugged. “There’s just no staying dry today, is there?” He clomped over to the edge of the platform to look over the edge, his comical walk only made worse by the audible water sloshing in his boots and armor.

            My now water-logged cape weighed on me uncomfortably so I unlatched it and began to wring it out, messily folding it once I was satisfied with how dry it was and stuffing it in my pouch. “I feel naked without my cloak,” I complained.

            “Oh, I can assure you that you’re not naked,” Teldryn countered. It was funny. He’d spoken so little since I returned so I thought it was just my imagination. Nothing _seemed_ out of the ordinary but his voice and the way he moved—everything seemed different. But it wasn’t.

            “Well,” I looked around and felt my feet slosh around in my own boots. My underclothes clung tight and cold to my skin. “Before we see the Skaal, I’m going to let my armor and clothes dry out. Oblivion be damned if I’m walking up that freezing mountain like _this_.”

            “Agreed.” And there it was again. Something was different about his voice.

            Neloth met us and observed, “You could have at least _tried_ to stay dry.”

            I ignored him. “It looks like after I finish with the Skaal, I’ll be coming back to you for help with finding more books. I doubt defeating Miraak will be as easy as reading a Black Book.”

            I heard Teldryn exclaim behind me, “ _What_ in Oblivion?”

            I turned to see thick lines of gold rise up from the water and float near me. “ _Finally_.” I threw up my hands in excitement. “I was wondering what was wrong with this damned island. This is the first—”

            Then I heard a voice behind us that shook me to my core. “You have been so _very_ helpful in aiding in my return to power. Maybe I’ll let you live as my servant once my reign begins again.”

            _Miraak._

            There was no thought to my actions. I let out a primal scream and leapt at him, readying a powerful lighting spell around me. As my foot met the ground, I raised my arm to smash my fist into his chest when he vanished with the dragon soul. My spell had missed its target and ended up hitting the water below instead, briefly setting the choppy sea ablaze with streams of lightning. A few fish floated up to the surface, bellies up. I stood there staring at the ground, my hands balled into fists. My nails were digging so deeply into my glove they hurt. My breathing was ragged.

            Neloth made the observation, “So, that was Miraak.”

            I let my rage fly toward the sky, “ _STRUN… BAH QO_!” Ramnants of the lightning I had summoned earlier still sat in my palm, crackling and releasing painful sparks on my fingertips.

            The sky turned dark at the blink of an eye and a flash of lightning came down between me and Neloth without warning. I didn’t flinch. He jumped back. In the next, a powerful storm swept the land, rain and wind summoned in torrential proportions. I felt my head dizzy, my rage still not satisfied. The rain hit my body with a horrible kind of force and another flash of lightning hit near us. I could hear Neloth complaining behind me. I finally let out my last breath of anger and looked up to the sky that was pelting us with heavy sheets of rain.

            “ _LOK…VAH KOOR_!” I grabbed my chest and allowed myself to breathe. The skies cleared as soon as they had darkened, the rain’s mark still left on the stone and dark ash on the coast.

            I heard Teldryn advise Neloth, “You could have at least _tried_ to stay dry.”

* * *

 

            “Blessed Tribunal,” Teldryn grunted as he brought down the axe to split another log. “So, that was the man you’re after then?”

            I was never going to understand some things about the Dunmer and the Tribunal was one of them. “Yes,” I yanked at a piece of rubble lodged in between two plates of my armor. “The bastard.”

            “What was that strange light?” Teldryn took a moment to wipe some of the sweat from his brow. “We’d seen it before after felling the other dragons but this time he took it. At least that’s what it looked like.”

            I wasn’t in the mood to explain. “It’s nothing.”

            Neloth had angrily stomped back to Tel Mithryn, having been unexpectedly soaked by the thunderstorm I had conjured. All he told me before I left was, “Don’t you dare open any more of those books out of my presence.” I took that to mean he was still interested in helping.

            Teldryn and I had decided to stay at the encampment near the Nchardak entrance until tomorrow. Both of us had stripped out of our wet armor and clothes and found suitable items to wear. We’d found a store of acceptable clothing in a chest. Both of us refused to wear the smallclothes we’d found, Teldryn stating, “I don’t want to think about a reaver’s smalls on me.”

            I busied myself by fixing the plates of my armor on the arm where I’d had a pipe run through me. It would do until Glover could fix it. Teldryn was busy chopping firewood for a fire. Once I finished, I decided to sit near him against the edge of the platform and let my feet dangle below me, not even close to the surface of the sea. The sun felt blessedly warm and inviting so I laid back and let the warmth stretch across my cold, moist skin.

            “Gods, I hope the Skaal aren’t going to be difficult about this,” I muttered. I allowed myself a few minutes to stare up at the few wispy clouds. Now the story made more sense. The cultists who had attacked me in Whiterun were probably under Miraak’s control. The letter that held my name? Miraak was in league with Hermaeus Mora; my entire life history was probably somewhere in Apocrypha. And I hadn’t imagined laughter after taking care of the dragons in the past few weeks—it was Miraak. Mocking me because I did all the dirty work while he reaped the souls.

            Damn, damn, _damn_.

            Teldryn grunted as he brought down the axe and split another log in half. From upside down, I could see him wipe his brow with the back of one arm. “I’d almost believe you hired me to do all the unsavory work.” He pinched the collar of the shirt he was wearing and pulled it back and forth against his chest. “Damn it,” he grumbled and reached down to pull the shirt over his head.

I’d determined that there _was_ something different about him. The low, gravel quality of his voice sounded just a tad smoother and even his face and body were seemingly more attractive to me than they’d been before. I’d never paid attention to it before, but he was fairly lean and muscled. Even the tattoos on his face were more appealing than they usually were.

            “My, the way you’re staring at me makes me think you’ve got a dirtier mind than I do,” he teased and winked at me.

            “Shut it,” I spit out, my face ablaze. “I was just noticing how badly you were chopping that wood.” I took another peek at him and noticed something shining off his hand.

 “Is that a ring? You’ve not always worn that.”

            Teldryn put down the axe and looked at the band. “This? No, I found it in Nchardak. I think it’s enchanted but I can’t figure out with what.” He walked over and stood beside me. “Why?”

            I glanced up at him and shrugged. I then looked at my own: the Nightweaver’s band. “Oh, just trying to decide if you were married and using mercenary work to get away from some unsatisfied partner,” I joked. “My name is Teldryn Sero, best sellsword in Morrowind and worst lover in Tamriel.” My best impression of him was laughable.

            He lightly kicked my side with one of his bare feet. “Shush, you. Have you never hired someone who was married?” He sat beside me and quickly added, “Not that I am.”

            “How would I know?” I shrugged. “I hire people, people follow me. Often they die.” He frowned at that so I tried to soften my demeanor. “Not that I know of. Lemme see your ring,” I held a hand out and he slid the ring into my hand. As soon as he did so, he looked like he always had. I examined the plain looking ring. The enchantment _felt_ familiar. “I’ve always thought it was creepy, giving Mara permission to look in on my relationship as if I didn’t have enough people breathing down my neck making sure I do what they want.” I began to laugh, realizing what the enchantment was.

            “What?” Teldryn sounded a little annoyed.

            “Watch,” I sat up and put the ring on a free finger. “Notice anything?”

            His eyes widened. “How did you do that?”

            “See what I mean?”

            “You’ve become downright tolerable to look at and listen to,” he joked.

            I ribbed him a little harder than necessary. “Arse.” I took the ring off. “Charm spell.”

            “Well, damn me. You took it off and now you seem like you were.” He grabbed the ring but didn’t put it back on, studying it. “Charm spell?”

            “Magic so old it isn’t even magic anymore in my humble opinion. I told you I’d been at the College. They had me study all sorts of boring, esoteric magic and this is one that I never see anyone use. It’s an illusion spell, supposed to make others have a higher opinion of you. Lots of ways to do that. It’s what makes charms tricky to figure out.”

            “Well, that explains a lot,” Teldryn said.

            “Like?”

            I almost thought I heard Teldryn hesitate. “I asked Neloth what the enchantment was and all he told me was that I’d figure it out.”

            I slipped off my own ring and began to roll it around my fingers. “It’s a weak enchantment. He was just having a little fun with you.”

            “Of course he was,” Teldryn jerked his arm back and the ring flew into the air until it plopped into the still water.

            We sat there like that for a moment, quiet. Stillness was often unsettling for me; there was always something to be waiting for, watching for. Now it was a welcome reprieve from everything that had been happening. I looked at the horizon and pointed to the smoking mountain in the distance.

            “So, do the Dunmer call it Red Mountain or Dagoth-Ur?” I asked.

            He raised an eyebrow. “Well, a regular scholar. Not many Men know the name of one of our old gods. Well, not _really_ a god, but Dunmer history gets a bit complicated.”

            “Hermaeus Mora is a little choosy about who becomes his champion,” I half-joked.

            He cleared his throat, “Ah. Well, it depends. If I’m using Common, I’ll call it Red Mountain. Although, sometimes I’ll still call it that in Dunmeris. I’m not sure it matters too much.” He held a hand up to his brow to squint out toward the horizon without the sun blinding him. Sunset was near and the water heightened the brightness. “With the ash from Red Mountain covering half the island, it's astonishing how much Solstheim reminds me of home.”

            I yawned and looked out at the water. “And home for Teldryn is in Blacklight?”

            He smiled brightly at me. “When you say my name it sounds endearing.”

            “Oh?” I smirked. “Even in the middle of battle when I’m yelling at you to pull your weight?”

             He reached over and playfully pinched my cheek. I gently swatted him away. “Always so cheeky to me. Yes, home is in Blacklight, full of ash and surrounded by water. But home has been Solstheim for many years now.”

            “I think you’ve mentioned that last part before,” I settled back down on my back, hands across my stomach. “So you decided to live in Skyrim, make your way as a mercenary?”

            “Well it wasn’t as if I could make my way in Vvardenfell now could I? No, being from Redoran I decided to make my way to Skyrim and ended up in Windhelm.”

            I went quiet. “You’ve mentioned that as well.”

            He must have sensed my unease. “I was treated as well as you could expect but stop that. I can’t stand it when your guilt stops whatever we were talking about.”

            “It’s a little hard to put that aside when you’re constantly in the company of a Dunmer,” I pointed out. He absentmindedly began picking up some pebbles and throwing them into the water.

            “Fair enough. No, many of us moved from Blacklight to Windhelm. I was a lot younger then,” he mused.

            “We all used to be,” I sighed. “I expected you to be much older.”

            “You’re so old you don’t even remember how many seasons you’ve seen,” he prodded. “Older? Like my brother?” Teldryn laughed. “When I get to be as old as you expect me to be, you’ll be dead.”

             Ignoring his comment, I sat back up and stretched my arms upward, relishing the relief I felt. Taking the opportunity, I moved closer to Teldryn and laid my head against his shoulder. “Much better than chitin,” I noted. “And I remember exactly how many seasons I have just like I remember my name.”

            He raised an eyebrow. “I was wondering if you even had one of those.”

            “Doesn’t everyone?” I asked. “Stop asking about me. Tell me more about Blacklight.  I’ve never been.”

            The sun was setting prettily, casting pinks and oranges across the waves far off that dispersed them into softer stripes of color. Teldryn didn’t tell me more about Blacklight but instead apologized. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” A heartbeat passed us before he added, “I’m sorry.”

            I was a little taken aback by the topic but realized he wasn’t going to move on until we’d addressed it. “What? You’re worried about _that_?”

            “Worried about _you_.” He didn’t elaborate.

            I glanced up and saw his red eyes searching my face for a response. I had to laugh a little at how concerned he was. “You are really taking this to heart.”

            “Are you laughing at me?” His mouth didn’t move from a flat line. “Are you _really_ laughing at me?”

            I laughed a little harder. “I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously. If I had a brother or sister that’s how I would kiss them goodbye. Teldryn, I had no idea you were so sensitive.”

            His eyes widened and the corners of his mouth turned slightly downward. “I am _not_ sensitive,” he defended. “I was trying to be _considerate_. _Of you_.”

            Unexpectedly, I found myself pulling him in for an embrace. I wasn’t laughing anymore; instead I was feeling morose. “Teldryn, don’t.” I felt his strong arms wrap around my back, his hands rubbed between my shoulder blades. “I promise nothing good ever comes from considering my feelings.” I felt his chest rise and fall against my own and he wordlessly moved a hand to stroke my hair. “Stop,” I pushed him away. “I don’t need your comfort or your pity.” I looked back at the water that was darkening with the sky, drawing my knees to my chest.

            “Are you always so selfish?” he asked quietly. “Maybe I think you _are_ deserving of a little comfort now and then.”

            I scoffed. “Of course I’m selfish. You’ve only spent the last third of a year with me. Haven’t you noticed?” I was quickly tiring of this conversation. “Now, tell me about Blacklight.”

            Teldryn sighed in resigned defeat. “Are you sure you’re not a Nord? _Fine_.” He thought for a moment before deciding on, “Blacklight is beautiful. Large port, busy streets. The buildings you’ve seen in Raven Rock? Nothing compared to the architecture in Blacklight.” He threw another pebble. “When I was a young boy I met Saint Jiub there. I thought my brother was going to squeal like a little girl,” he chuckled at the thought. “But I was so young I barely remember Jiub’s face.”

            Giving him a look of puzzlement I asked, “Who?”

            “So there _is_ something you don’t know,” he joked lightly. “Saint Jiub wiped out the cliff racers in the Third Era.”

            I now held some sympathy for those who had to listen to me speak in Dragon tongue. “I don’t know what a cliff racer is either.”

            Teldryn laughed. “Yeah, neither do I. Dunmer legend says they were dangerously nasty flying beasts.”

            “Like dragons? No wonder he’s a saint,” I chuckled at that. “I’m not sure anyone calls me Saint El—“ I bit my tongue, realizing how comfortable I’d gotten. “No one would call me a saint,” I corrected.

            Teldryn was quick to pick up on the stumble. “So you _do_ have a proper name. Tell me.” He looked far too interested.

            “I’d really rather not. Having a name is horribly inconvenient when you’re a widely known criminal.”

            His smile could have lit up the night sky. “You get more interesting when you’re stone-cold sober. Criminal?”

            I groaned. “It’s getting late. You really want to have this conversation now?”

            Teldryn thought for a moment, rubbing his hand across his jaw line. “Alright then. You have a choice. You either tell me your name or you kiss me.”

            He was just unbelievable at times. I arched my eyebrow, “You’re serious.”

            “Dead.”

            I gave it a thought before deciding. “You drive a hard bargain but I’ll just suffer through a kiss.” I smiled wickedly as I brought my lips to his cheek and pressed hard, feeling the prickle of his stubble.

            Teldryn exaggerated his frown comically. “You are a _horrible_ person. That is the second time you’ve cheated today. You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

            I stood up and began walking to a bedroll under a lean-to tent. “It’s really your fault,” I called behind me. “You should have been clearer.”

            Teldryn started laughing and followed me. “Well, tell me this: will you share your name one day?”

            I settled into the bedroll and watched as he kneeled beside me, waiting for an answer. “I have a lot of names. Why can’t you be happy with one of those?”

Teldryn took some time to mull over that question. “Well, I only know two: Rook and Dragonborn.”

            “And Hermaeus Mora’s champion. You know that one.”

            “They all sound very impressive,” he agreed but then looked a little less amused. “Well, except for the last one where you may or may not be going mad.”

            I rubbed a finger on the ground, painfully hard. “I try forgetting that part.”

            Teldryn looked at me, the darkness obscuring his face. I sat up, realizing that sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon. “Close your eyes,” I ordered. He did as I asked without question. I closed my fist and felt my life force pulsing in my palm. I let that force flow out and when I opened my palm, a light sat in the center. I slid it above the two of us. “Open,” I whispered.

            Teldryn did so and a soft smile crossed his lips, his gaze transfixed on the candle above us. “Maybe one day you’ll also tell me about your time at the College.” His hand brushed against the myriad of colors inside the white light. “I imagine that in a past life you were probably a Mer. Magic suits you. Your swordplay needs more than a little work.” I briefly grimaced at the thought of my beautiful, broken sword.  He took notice and apologized, “Sorry.”

            I grinned at the thought of being a Mer. “What a terrible idea. Look at these ears.” I reached up to playfully tug at his. He snickered and brushed my hair away to pull down at my own.

            “Oh, look at what we have here!” Teldryn pulled a little harder and I began to giggle stupidly. “Look at you hiding these.”

            I brushed his hand away laughing, “They _aren’t_ pointed.”

            “Oh, yes they are!” Teldryn moved in closer and grabbed the other ear. “Maybe not as much as mine or as long but they _definitely_ do not belong to any Man.” I couldn’t stop laughing, my stomach ached.

            “Teldryn, stop! I get it, I get it,” I surrendered, still laughing. But then I sombered. I took a hand and rubbed an ear, feeling the elongation I knew he’d taken note of. “I stay covered. I can be anyone or anything I please if no one knows what I look like.”

            The light went out and I couldn’t see in the darkness for a brief moment. I blinked and found Teldryn smiling contentedly at me. I involuntarily smiled back and rested my head against my knees. The feeling that I had pushing down in the pit of my stomach since we’d settled here began to rise up again. No amount of joking around could assuage it. I felt my mouth deflate.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

            “You.”

            His face fell and he furrowed his brow, taken aback. “Me?”

            “I think you forget the worst parts of me at times,” I admitted.

            His mouth moved from confusion to concern. “I think you forget the good parts.” He got up and brushed off his pants. “It’s awfully tiring constantly working to place you in the role of villain. And if you are? Then I’m probably just as bad. I like you. I like traveling with you, fighting with you, drinking with you. I like how much power you wield so easily.” He stopped and added, “I’ve yet to see any evidence that you’re doing more harm than good here.”

            I _wanted_ to take comfort in this words but I knew all too well that Hermaeus Mora wasn’t going to politely ask for whatever the Skaal had and then leave them to their business. And I knew all too well that _I_ would be the one to bring some measure of heartache to the village.

             “I think,” I started slowly. “You’ll see what I mean tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a week long break so I'm able to get an update to you guys ahead of schedule! This chapter marks the beginning of a lot of time in Apocrypha and piecing the main story together. A lot of clean-up was done in regards to clarity of storytelling and establishing what each character knows/doesn't know. In the original drafts, I'd done a big disservice to Teldryn by having his dialogue be pretty divorced from the goings-on in the plot until later chapters. Also, making him more shameless is a bit fun. Another big change was making sure that more loose ends were tied up. For instance, I never once addressed the cultists beyond, "And there were some people." So, it was easy enough to pass it off as more Miraak mind control and add more resolution to what I'd hope to do.
> 
> Also, some fun bits at the end of this chapter with Rook and Teldryn. I like the cleaner dialogue in that section.
> 
> Special thanks to some lovely guests who left kudos as well as RedEmbrace, lyhrilavellanrutherford, LadyGraceGrey. Thank you! And, as usual, an extra heaping of gratitude for those who take the time to leave a few kind words: SaffronTurtle, I hope you had a grin plastered on your face during some sections of this chapter and SuFin20, again, your ever-helpful words of wisdom.
> 
> See you guys next chapter where things go just as well as Rook expects them to. Thank for reading! -Ash


	17. Reap the Harvest

“Elisa?” Teldryn guessed. We were trudging through ash trying to make our way to the Skaal Village. I wasn’t thrilled about a three or four hour trip on foot in normal circumstances but Teldryn insisted on trying to guess my name. We were only half an hour into the journey. It was times like these that I wasn’t sure that I should be allowed to have the power to bend the will of mortals. Had I less restraint, Teldryn’s game would have ended long ago in me forcing him to stay silent. Although the fact that I was already of thinking of ways I could use my new power was a bit frightening.

            Instead I groaned, “If it makes you happy just call me whatever you’d like. Give me a whole new name!” I threw up my hands, stomped a little more forcibly.

            The ash spawn had already been troublesome and I wasn’t in the mood to run into any more. Needless to say, the wind was picking up and kicking up dust around us. It was making it awfully hard to determine when one might crop up. I also felt horribly underequipped without my sword but I knew Teldryn was right: my magic would suffice. Out of boredom I had been summoning wolf-like familiars and letting them run wild, snapping at ash hoppers. They pranced back like puppies, dead insects dangling from their mouths.

            The mercenary snapped his fingers. “Elara!”

            “ _No_ , Teldryn.”

            I thought I heard him chuckle. “This is going to be a _great_ game when I’m drunk.”

            I had no doubt he wouldn’t forget that claim. I dug around in my bag, trying to find arrows to fill my quiver with. I came up with a meager handful of iron arrows. The next time I saw Glover, it was going to be a _very_ expensive trip. “Teldryn? Do you know if Glover carries any arrows?”

            I thought I heard him mumble something before answering, “Yes.”

            As I jammed the arrows back in my bag, I sighed. “Stop mumbling. If you have something to tell me, then just do so.”

            Teldryn must have thought he spotted something because he summoned his flame atronach; it immediately began scouting the area. For good measure I summoned one as well and it followed its twin. “What’s between you and Glover?”

            “ _Between_? Are you implying something?” I choked disbelief down. It was almost amusing hearing the tinge of jealousy in the easy manner of his voice. It was like listening to a bard suddenly forget the words to a familiar song.

            He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t implying… I mean,” he cleared his throat again. “So there’s no reason at all that you two steal away for a bit of privacy?”

            Oh, this was _too_ good. I’d always been on the receiving end of his endless taunts. This was the perfect opportunity for some revenge. I smirked behind my mask before answering him in my most somber tone. “I thought discretion was best. You understand, right?”

            “Oh.” The sound stood alone and, in the silence, I could almost hear Teldryn’s mind working far too hard on the matter. I had to force myself to keep from bursting into peals of laughter. The only thing that would have made the moment better was if I could see his face. He floundered, attempting to save face, “So, that matter’s settled then. Good to know.”

            Rolling my eyes, I decided to spare him. “Well, you can imagine that business gets a little messy across lands. Wouldn’t want people to talk.”

            Teldryn stopped dead in his tracks. I kept walking ahead. It took him a few seconds but he caught up and asked, “Wait. Are we even talking about the same thing?”

            I smiled to myself. “I’m _fairly_ certain we aren’t. You’re asking if I’m sharing his bed. I’m telling you I’m his boss.” I continued past him at an easy pace. “Well, in some respects.”

            Teldryn jogged to catch up with me again, his chitin clanking loudly. He could convince me it was sturdy but I would never be able to pry the grating sound of how loud it was from my mind’s ear. “His _boss_? You work? Well, I mean, I guess I never asked… I just assumed—”

            “—that being the Dragonborn was my job.” I interrupted. “Everyone does. But the pay is shit and the perks end before they begin.”

            “Soooo…” he began. “You’re a… blacksmith?”

            I had to laugh at that. “Teldryn, have you even paid attention to me trying to fix my _own_ armor?”

            He shrugged. “I was being generous.”

            “Glover was once part of the Thieves’ Guild in Riften,” I offered.

            “The Thieves’ Guild?” Then, it dawned on him. “Ah. The lockpicking, your penchant for being quiet… your extremely attractive supply of money.” He added, “You haven’t paid me in a week by the way. Or do we need to rob someone first?” He chuckled to himself.

            I rolled my eyes. He’d probably made thrice our agreement by following me around and picking through what I didn’t bother to go through anymore. The East Empire Pendants were the only thing I was interested in pocketing nowadays. I explained, “I’m the Guild Master in name only. I doubt I’m actually of any use to the guild anymore.”

            “Then who’s there taking care of things?”

            “Um, well…” I stumbled for a moment, the question catching me off-guard. “He’s my…uh… I guess second-in-command?” My face began to feel hot so I pulled back my mask; I thought he’d ignore the red spreading deep across my cheeks. No luck.

            He smirked. “ _Ooooh_ , I see. Your right-hand man in more ways than one?”

            I bristled. “ _No_.” The curtness in my voice must have sounded unusually cruel.

            “Ah,” his voice sobered. It was a second or two of silence before he added, “I’m no stranger to a broken heart.” I kept walking, ignoring him. Regardless, Teldryn continued, “I must have been fifteen or sixteen seasons past? But you know that’s the age when you believe every flutter of your heart is true love and I was stranger to the feeling. I even still remember her name: Agna.”

            “A Nord?” I was a little interested now.

            “Well, I was living in Skyrim wasn’t I? I had just had a few good months working as a mercenary, doing a few odd jobs around Windhelm wasn’t exactly hard. I always had offers to clean out bandits from any surrounding settlements that were not pure Nord. I met her in Candlehearth Hall where I’d go every night to drink cold mead with my companions. Agna was a serving girl and I would regale her every night with tales of my adventures and she’d slip love notes to me when she brought rounds to the table. Cute things really. She’d tell me how much my eyes reminded her of snowberries and the like.”

            I snorted at the idea of telling Teldryn that his eyes were like snowberries. He punched me lightly in the arm.

            “A little respect, _m’sera_. This is the story of how my poor heart broke for the first time. I had it _so_ bad, I forgot I was Dunmer but no one else did. I’m sure she had been told countless times about how the dark elves living in the Grey Quarter were a bunch of _swits_ and _fetchers_. Long story short, one day I ordered a mead and she poured it in my lap,” Teldryn finished.

            I just nodded but then offered him a little more, turning the attention back to me. “It wasn’t like he was the first time. It just hurt the most, broke the deepest.”

            Surprisingly, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze. “I suppose we’ve all had our fair share of those. There’s always one person you want more than just affection from. You want their respect.” Teldryn took his arm back but kept up at my pace.

            I kicked a few more rocks and ignored his comment. The wind became colder, the air little clearer. Half an hour later snow littered the ground and in about an hour we were ankle deep in the mush. As we grew closer, I found my hand drifting to my pouch and dragging out my timepiece. The action was innocuous when I wasn’t aware of it but now that it had my attention it was worrisome. Each time I glanced at it, my mind had an incessant thought: _check the time check the time check the time._ Even more troublesome. I shook the thought from my head.

By the time we got to the village, the spell had passed so I paid it no further mind. We breezed past a few of the Skaal talking about a missing man, whispers of a possible kidnapping.

A child scurried around, busying herself with helping her parents. I found Storn kneeling in the center of the village praying and surrounded by runes.

            “Storn,” I interrupted his meditation.

            “Dragonborn,” he addressed me, not opening his eyes. “I see the dragons have returned in larger numbers. I suppose the Skaal have endured worse.”

            “Well, then brace yourself because ‘worse’ might be the next piece of news I give you. I can stop Miraak but I need Hermaeus Mora’s help and his help comes at a price.”

            Storn snapped his attention to me and shot up. “Herma-Mora himself? Of course, he is the source of Miraak’s power.” His voice did a horrible job at trying to stay level. “We have many tales of Herma-Mora trying to trick us into giving up our secrets to him. And now he comes again for what we have long kept from him.”

“Not a fan of the daedra?” He shot me a look. I sighed. “That might be a problem because the only way he’ll teach me the final word of power is if he has whatever secret it is you’re keeping from him.”

            “So,” he looked out at the village, watching the girl from earlier happily run around. “It falls to me to be the one to give up the secrets to our ancient enemy,” Storn observed. “I do not know if I have the strength to face him but your efforts in cleansing the stones of this land may be enough to carry us through this difficult time.”

            Teldryn glanced at me. I didn’t return his look but instead kept my gaze on the shaman.

            “He didn’t ask anything of me or I would pay the price,” I offered. I knew what I was asking him to do. But I had to know that he would be willing to give the Prince the knowledge. Storn’s mouth set flat but his eyes held sorrow.

            “The Skaal also tell of the day when we must finally give up our secrets. When Hermaeus Mora finally wins.” The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes deepened. “As shaman, it is my duty to guard these secrets, but also to decide when it is necessary to give them up. I believe that time is now. If I am wrong, may my ancestors forgive me.”

            The door to his hut creeked open behind us and Frea peaked out. She smiled widely upon seeing me but her happiness quickly turned into confusion as she spied her father’s expression. “Father? Is all well?”

Storn now looked on the verge of tears but didn’t answer her. He ordered, “Give me the book. I will read it and speak to old Herma-Mora himself. I will make sure he lives up to his part of the bargain.”

            Each time he said _Herma-Mora_ there was more than a hint of disdain underneath it. I shrugged and handed him the book from my pouch. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

            Storn walked downhill, toward an open area in the village. Teldryn followed me and Frea followed us, having seen what transpired. She called out, “Father! You must _not_ do this!” She clamored down after us, her armor clinging while she took steps downward. “That book… it is wrong. Evil! Against everything that you have taught me my whole life!”

            Hearing Frea’s shouts of despair would probably be another set of voices that haunted me when I slept. Storn obviously knew what was ahead of him. I _definitely_ knew what was in store. I swallowed another fresh wave of bile that had found its way into my throat. Her father stopped and turned to her, the book underneath an arm. He placed a hand on her shoulder then embraced her tightly. “Frea, I must. We must free Solstheim from Miraak’s shadow.” She began to sob. He continued, “Nothing that lives remains the same forever.”

            I crossed my arms and thoughtlessly dug a heel into the snow. This was always the worst part, watching something inevitable drag on to its eventual conclusion. Luckily, Teldryn didn’t say anything. Perhaps he understood now. This is who I had to be. I silently thanked Akatosh for the cover of my mask.

            “Do not fear for me, my daughter. This is the fate the All-Maker has laid out for me.”

            Frea’s voice broke, “I stand beside you, father, as always.” She rubbed an eye with the side of her fist. The dirt of her gloved stained her tears, streaked it across her cheeks.

            He took one last wary glance at me and warned, “I am trusting you will make this sacrifice worthwhile.”

            I didn’t acknowledge that I’d heard him, instead standing behind him to watch as he opened the book and began to read.  A few moments later the book tore from Storn’s hands of its own volition. Teldryn laid a quick hand on my arm before reaching for his sword. I steadied him before he unsheathed it. A black void folded in on itself above the book, pulsating tentacles sprung forth. The center eye lazily opened. Then a collection of tentacles ripped through the book and tore through Storn’s body. Frea let out a short scream and Teldryn flinched. I remained motionless, my arms crossed. The shaman’s blood dripped onto the snow. Violent crimson splotches marred the ice.

            “At last, the Skaal yield up their secrets to me,” boomed Hermaeus.

            Frea rushed to my side and pulled on my arm. “Do something!” her desperate voice pleaded. “It is the Demon of Knowledge. He seeks to take our wisdom from us!”

            I allowed her to beg. I didn’t move. Didn’t answer her.

            “Dragonborn,” Hermaeus addressed me directly. Frea’s hand dropped from my arm. The look on her face was very familiar: disbelief, betrayal, anguish. “You have delivered to me the gift I requested.”

            “Yes,” I agreed.

            Frea took a step back, her face furrowed in anger.

            “I shall now keep my promise, as befits a prince Oblivion.” A glow began to rise up from the ground underneath my feet. “I give you the word of power that you need to challenge Miraak. You will either be a worthy opponent or his successor, as the tides of fate decree.”

            Storn’s body was still being examined by the book’s tantacles. Blood continued to pour out from the wounds. Surprisingly, the shaman was able to strangle out a single syllable: “ _No_.” More blood dribbled past his lips.

            I rolled my eyes. “I want Miraak dead. I’ll make it work.”

            His eye looked like it was pleased with the response. “My ever clever champion.”

            And with that he folded back into Oblivion.

            Storn’s body fell with a thud onto the ground. Fresh powder kicked up around it as Frea ran forward, clutching it desperately. “Father! Father!” her tears were flowing freely now. She hugged the blood-soaked and torn body tightly.

            I pushed through the crowd gathering around Storn, some paying their respects and others collapsing to their knees. I could only hope Teldryn was behind me but I wouldn’t judge him too harshly if he wasn’t.

            “What have you _done_?” I heard Frea’s voice shriek at me. I stopped but did not turn around. She deserved to lash out. “Just _leave_! At least try and make my father’s sacrifice mean something.” Her voice hitched and she broke out into another fresh sob. I contined forward. Other villagers moved past me, trying to get a look at Storn. I heard most of them whisper behind my back, felt their stares and watched them point.

            And now I was left alone with my thoughts. After a few minutes, I heard Teldryn behind me, his armor clinking loudly in the silence of the woods. I crushed the snow beneath my feet, felt the cold on my fingertips. He caught up. The first hour passed wordlessly. We dispatched anything that came our way. Not a sound between us. The second hour I think Teldryn asked me where we were going but I didn’t answer. He was filling up the silence with nothing meaningful. By the third hour, we were completely engulfed in ash again. We were nearing Brodir’s Grove. I told Teldryn as much and he suggested we rest for a bit. I agreed.

            There were a few reavers who had decided to reclaim the area but were woefully unprepared for us. I took down two with my arrows alone and Teldryn dispatched three using only his sword. He didn’t summon his atronach. I didn’t make a comment about it. Neither of us were hungry so we decided to rest on the bench in front of the fire the reavers had left behind. It crackled. My mind raced. A couple of months ago, Frea begged me to come to her village. She said that I could save her people. Had she known her father’s death would be the outcome, I doubted she would have been so enthusiastic about my help in Miraak’s temple. As for Teldryn? I could only guess. If he were smart, he would have abandoned me by now. Surely, the mercenary didn’t take his job _that_ seriously.

            I kicked some smoldering embers. Slowly, I began, “I don’t think I have everything I need to stop Miraak. Not yet.”

            I swore I heard him snort in amusement. “Hermaeus Mora didn’t give you everything? Seemed like the payment was enough.”

            “He knew the cost,” I snapped back. “The moment I handed him the book, Storn knew the risks.”

            Teldryn threw his hands up in innocence. “I’m not accusing you.” I cocked my head in confusion. He shook his head. “You _do_ forget that I’m Dunmer, don’t you? You think I just invoke Azura’s name? Hermaeus Mora must not require his servants to know a _great_ deal if you know nothing about the temple. It’s been about thirty years since I’ve properly worshipped, but I still pray to Boethiah and Mephala.”

            And suddenly, I realized that he might not be as upset as I predicted. Dunmer were no stranger to the daedra. “I might be familiar with those names.”

            He took off his helm, pulled down his kerchief. He looked exhausted but he gave me a sympathetic grimace. “Rook, I do a lot of things in my line of work, but—most of the time—I’m killing people. At least you’re doing it for a better cause than gold.” Then he took my hand, wound his fingers with mine. “So, what don’t you have? What do you still need to kill Miraak?”

            And my heart raced. With my other hand, I uncovered myself and shook out my hair. Staring at him in disbelief, I couldn’t string my thoughts together. Frea cried and yelled at me. The villagers probably blamed me. Teldryn simply looked concerned. For me.

            “Oh.” I had no idea the single sound would take so much effort.

            “What?” He squeezed my hand.

            I shook my head. “Nothing.” But then I explained, “When I first met Miraak, in Apocrypha, he shouted but it wasn’t with the words that I have now. Hermaeus’ gift will help me kill him, but I don’t think it’ll be enough to survive the encounter.”

            “And what you know now, it’s how you cleansed the stones.”

            Nodding, I didn’t expand. “Something like that.”

            _Gol hah dov._ Control over the earth and the mortals. And the dragons. Control.

            To be able to control Miraak, make him eat his own tongue so he’d never be able to shout again. Control, contr—

 _Oh, gods_. It was happening again.

            Teldryn made a thoughtful noise. “But to find those words, you’ll need to find more walls?”

            And I tried _so_ hard to focus on his words. “If I can figure out where they are.”

            He said something else. My mind rebelled. One of my legs bounced up and down. I held on tighter to Teldryn’s hand. My fingertips grazed the worn leather of his gloves. With the other hand, I clutched at my chest. It rose and fell rapidly, my breath ragged.

I had to dominate Miraak. Dominate and control him. I stared into the flames.

“What will I burn?” I whispered to the fire wildly licking the air. “What will I spare?”

My hand pulled away from Teldryn against my will and I plunged my face into my palms. Something high pitched began ringing in my ears. And then something underneath the sound again.

_This realm is beyond you. You have no power here. And it is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine. I already control the minds of its people._

            My legs continued to bounce up and down against the ash, dust flying around my boots. I jumped up and started pacing around.

            Teldryn didn’t move but suggested something I couldn’t understand. I thought I heard Neloth’s name.

            I dug out my timepiece and kept checking the time. “Neloth?” My breathing hitched. “Not that madman. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know what it’s like. Like dragons.” I stumbled on my words. “Need to control, control their need to dominate.” I realized how mad I sounded and my stomach dropped. I was too far gone for whatever temporary fix Neloth could provide.

            I paced around the fire. I thought I heard Teldryn shift, maybe unsheathe his sword but there were too many thoughts crowded in my head. I began to shake and then I dropped down to my knees, clutching my stomach. I couldn’t stop staring at the fire. And then I started laughing uncontrollably. “House Telvanni!” I exclaimed, thinking of Neloth and bursting into another fit of laughter. But then Miraak crossed my mind again. “Gods damned dragonborn.” More laughter and then uncontrollable sobbing. “Control him. Dominate him. _Kill_ him.”

            I could feel wind pick up around me, my cloak and hair blowing around me. This was ridiculous. I needed to get control of myself. I needed to control. Control. Control.

            I heard Miraak’s voice taunt me. _Thank you for all your help._

            My chest rose and fell violently. Miraak. I looked into the fire again and could see that it was spreading. Too fast and too wide. I was doing something. Something I couldn’t control.

            _What will you burn?_

_What will you spare?_

Power at its most primal.

            Miraak. Burn him entirely and spare him _nothing._

            _Dovahkiin, inhale the air,_ Paarthunax had instructed. _Exhale flame._

            “ _YOL… TOOR SHUL_!”

            And the fire engulfed me and everything around me, whipping around in wild twists and turns. The camp was on fire, the trees around the camp were on fire. Parts of the ground were burned, scorched. I breathed in and steadied myself. Sweat pooled in the creases of my joints and dripped from my brow. Small flames still flickered here and there. My stomach lurched as I realized Teldryn was missing. I stumbled up, my feet tripped over themselves.

            “No. No, no, _no_ ,” I spit out through my tears. My blood raced. I’d burned him whole, killed him. Another person dead because of me. Desperately, I cried out, “Teldryn!”

            No answer save for my own voice, the wind through the trees.

            Frantically wandering around, I continued to call out his name. I raked my hair back with both of my dirty hands, pulling back as hard as I could. “Sero? Mercenary?” I managed to choke back more tears. “Gods damn it all! _Answer me!_ ”

“Well, look who prefers that I live,” his voice called out loudly behind me. He was sauntering calmly back from a good distance away from the damage. I raced toward him at a breakneck speed and, upon reaching him, embraced him with such a force that it nearly knocked him backwards. His own arms wrapped around me tightly and he buried his face in my hair. Then I shoved him away, scowling.

            “Gods, Teldryn! I thought I had burnt you alive.”  

            Teldryn rolled his eyes and snaked an arm around my waist. I didn’t stop him. “Oh, believe me, it was a real concern for me as well.” He held me a little tighter. “Luckily, and unluckily, the signs of when that,” he made a vague motion toward camp, “is going to happen are becoming less and less subtle.”

            I began to shake. My body was coming down from the energy and the terror. Burying myself into his chest, I calmed myself by whispering, “ _Su'um ahrk morah… su'um ahrk morah…_ ” I breathed in, focused on that breath and let it out again.

            Teldryn used his other hand to hold my head closer to him, his fingers threaded softly thorugh my hair. A few moments later, he began to gently rock back and forth—the motions soothing me, swaying me from side to side.

            “I’m fine, _m’sera._ Not even singed,” he assured. “You’re just a bit weak from the madness.”

            I shook my head. “No,” I hissed. “This,” I pointed to myself, “is _not_ who I am. I am not weak. I am not mad.” I shook my head again.

            Teldryn grimaced. “Poor choice of words. I know you’re not.”

            I laughed a little, looked up at him. “And what _do_ you know about me? Right now I’m just some patron who’s going mad but can still pay your fee.”

            He went silent for a moment before answering, “I know you make hard decisions. Choices that others aren’t strong enough to make. You’re fighting for the good of a lot of people.”

            I’m sure I looked worse than a hargraven. The edges of my cloak were scorched, my hair was a mess of ash and sweat and my face probably looked flushed. My eyes felt dark and sunken in and my mouth tasted like sulfur. Despite all of this I smiled. “You’re so full of shit.” And I yanked him forward by his kerchief, kissing him full on the lips. It wasn’t meant to last long. But then I didn’t let go. He kept me close, pacing his mouth against mine in such a way that made me dizzy. I found a moment of strength to put an uneven sigh between us before his lips caught mine again, gently biting my bottom lip and dragging his tongue against mine before slowly pullng back.

            Oh. He had _that_ kind of dirty mind.

            The kind I _liked._

Teldryn rested his forehead against mine, unable to contain his grin. “Glad to see you found a better use for my mouth.”

“Dangerous,” I sighed, light-headed. Whatever fire remained in me was quenched by his touch. I bit my lip and could still taste him there, dark and earthy-ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was certainly something. I rushed getting this chapter up because after my break is over, I'm going to have no time to post until school is over (or at least, not that I can schedule in right now). That and I knew this chapter would be one in which a lot of changes needed to be made in terms of dialogue and relationship building. I took some time to explicitly show why Rook and Teldryn have a good relationship--Men avoid the daedra like the plague. Rook, unfortunately, has ties to LOTS of gods (not just the aedra). When starting this story, I realized that the only person who might be more understanding of her position would be 1) someone who had little scruples when it comes to crime, 2) kills others themselves, and 3) aren't totally against daedra worship. Since this story is set within the Dragonborn DLC, Teldryn met those criteria. In the original version, I did a very bad job establishing why it was Teldryn wasn't mortified by Storn's death.
> 
> Speaking of the original version, I've taken it off ffnet. I am finding the AO3 community to be much more my speed as far as reader interaction and demographic. Having it up over on ffnet was becoming more of certificate of proof that I originally finished it in 2013--which seems pretty useless. That and I'm not sure that it's doing the rewrites any justice to have the original stuff up. With chapters like this? The changes are much more important for the storytelling. 
> 
> Time to thank all of you who've taken the time to appreciate the last chapter! Thanks goes out to moon_and_star, nausicaa, sk8rch1c, and a slew of wonderful guests who've left kudos. A very special thank you to the steadfast SuFin20 for leaving kind words! 
> 
> Next chapter? We'll let Teldryn catch us up. He's unhappy. See you then! -Ash


	18. Teldryn Interlude IV

            After five flagons of sujamma, the taste of fire still refused to leave my tongue.

I was sulking. No point in being dishonest with myself.

            I motioned for Geldis to bring me another round of sujamma. As he placed it in front of me he frowned, “As much as I don’t mind the business, I have to ask: out of the job already? I thought for sure that outlander would stay for a bit longer. Seemed like she had some serious business here in Morrowind.”

            I took a long, deep sip before slamming down the flagon. Where the alcohol failed in cleansing my mouth, it succeeded in clouding my mind. Spectacularly. “ _Noooope_. She’s still here. Oooon Solsthiem.” My eyes couldn’t focus. The Retching Netch spun around me. I planted my face into the palm of one hand.

            Through the slits of my fingers, I watched Drovas come around the counter and pick up a tray Geldis had readied. Geldis stopped him. “Be sure you tell Slitter to _pay_ before he downs all of that. He still owes me twenty gold.”

            Drovas pursed his lips. “Master Geldis, he threatened to cut my ears off last time I tried to ask him to pay.”

            Geldis slammed a rag down on the counter. “By Azura, Drovas! Your ears be damned, I need my money. I’m not running a charity here.” He threw his hands at Drovas, gently shoving him away. “Sweet Tribunal, that boy is useless.” He sighed before turning back to our conversation. “You two have a fight?” He arched a brow. “Or a… _fight_? If you know what I mean?”

            My fingers fiddled with the edges my kerchief and I took another long sip. “Finished my work. She dismissed me.”

            “Ah.” He didn’t sound too convinced. “Well, there’re still a few jobs around town and such if you’re hurting for money. Some are just the usual requests you get bothered with.”

            I shook my head again. “No. I don’t want to think about taking on another job right now.” As I backed away from the counter, I felt myself begin to stumble backwards and braced myself.

            “I don’t think you should have another _drink_ right now.” Geldis pointed to my unbalanced state as evidence. “Go to bed, Teldryn. I can have Drovas wake you in the morning if—”

            “—oh _gods_ , don’t.” I held my head, the room refusing to stay still. The hangover that loomed on the horizon was not a pleasant prospect. I reached in my pouch and pulled out a handful of coins, sliding them to him. “Good night.”

            I felt my feet move on their own, disobeying my orders to stand upright and move in tandem. I cursed. “Oblivion take me.” My head also refused to listen to my demands. I didn’t want to think about Rook but my thoughts betrayed me. When I stumbled into my usual room, I found myself wondering if and when she would come back to Raven Rock. Our last discussion had not been a happy one.

            When she grabbed me and found my mouth, my heart leapt into my throat. I had been so _very_ wrong and was elated to discover that her mouth tasted nothing like her skin. The woman who could breathe fire held the sun on her tongue, a fresh wave of heat with each motion. Each time I’d moved my mouth to taste more of her, the stronger the blaze in me demanded to be satisfied. She’d tried to pull away but I decided to show her just how cruel I could be. I thought she had enjoyed herself. _I_ certainly had.

            I teased her. She whispered something. Some quiet moments. And then she startled me.

            “Go back to Raven Rock.”

“Why are we going back to Raven Rock?” I had misunderstood. “Oh, right. We should see Glover.”

“Not us. _You_.” Rook pushed me away. And she began walking north.

            I followed her, still reeling from the kiss. My hand reached for her arm, missed by a hair’s breadth. I laughed, “Alright, alright. Having a bit of fun with me. But, in all seriousness, where are we going?”       

            She spun around and prodded me in the chest with a finger. “Does this _look_ like I am joking? I said _go_. Begone.”

            My face fell. “Rook.” I went to grab her hand but she jerked away. The look on her face was less angry than it was crestfallen. Her mouth pursed, struggling to stay in a straight line. No words passed between us. My confusion didn’t afford me anything to offer, not knowing what was bothering her. Rook didn’t explain. Instead she turned and stomped away from me, bits of charred ash delicately flying around her boots. Her hand rummaged through her pouch, finding her mask. She replaced it over her face and threw her hood over her head. But she stopped for a moment, back turned to me.

            Rook must have sensed that I wasn’t leaving. “I said _leave!_ ”

Anger quietly seethed underneath my breath. Something inside me snapped. “What in Oblivion did _I_ do to _you_? I’ve done _nothing_ to deserve this!” My frustration had blossomed into full-blown infuriation. I’d started to feel something more for her than an easy friendship and now she was throwing it back in my face. Even worse, I thought she felt something more for me.

            She remained motionless and it reminded of me the way she didn’t flinch when Hermaeus Mora struck Storn or when his daughter uncontrollably cried in grief and anger. I saw something there in the way she planted her feet firmly in the ground, her arms seemingly relaxed at her sides but ready to strike at a moment’s notice. And I realized that she was right: I knew nothing about her. Nothing important anyway. She had tried to tell me. I had just refused to acknowledge it.

            I shook my head, trying to will myself back into the present in the Retching Netch. I ripped off my armor and stripped down to my smalls, laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. My head was swimming and I kept running through her last words to me.

            She had stood there in the still air. Rook wasn’t taking another step and I couldn’t read anything from her body language. Suddenly, she raised a hand with an index finger outstretched. “I told you _not_ to take my feelings into consideration because I am _never_ going to give you the same courtesy.”

            “Rook, don’t—”

“—you’re dismissed.” And she walked away. I knew better than to follow her so I just stood there, watching her form disappear over a hill.

            And I had made the trip back to Raven Rock alone and promptly worked myself up into a drunken stupor. As angry as I was, I couldn’t stop thinking about the moment right before Rook had decided to dismiss me. Her dark hair wildly framed her face that was smeared with streaks of ash. I’d never seen her as ecstatic as when she realized I was alive. Despite how weak she looked, she had no problem reaching for me. I laughed again, still drunk.

            I was doing my very best to push her out of my mind but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t help but think that I’d lost whatever part of her I had managed to gain. But I had difficulty in pinning down what it was I had done to lose her trust. It just seemed like Rook had made the decision to dismiss me on the spot, no rhyme or reason. I was too drunk for this. Too tired. My eyelids slowly drifted downward and I yawned. Allowing myself to relax, I could feel sleep take over me and my mind blackened. My last thought was of Rook and the way she shouted out to the sky, beckoning it to sweep across the land.

* * *

 

            My head was pounding. Luckily, Geldis was quiet and the Retching Netch empty. I simply motioned for a sujamma but he handed me an ale.

            “This is _not_ what I meant,” I muttered.  

            Geldis clicked his tongue at me, chiding the request. “Hangover like that is not going to benefit from any sujamma. _Especially_ mine.”

            I frowned at the thin, unappealing ale. Taking slow sips, I tried to disguise my disgust for the taste. It was almost like water after all the alcohol I had consumed. I considered the ale for a moment before taking another sip. I sighed. “I’ve been gone for a while. Anything good going on in Raven Rock?”

            Geldis shook his head. “Nothing much to speak of. More dragons being spotted, more reavers scouting the coast. It looks as if business as usual in Solstheim is becoming increasingly dangerous. Although I’ve heard the _Northern Maiden_ landed recently with some visitors from Skyrim. Nords.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Nords?”

            Geldis returned the action. “Nords. Y’know, those big, burly, stubborn types from Skyrim. You’re familiar with the type, yes?”

            I rolled my eyes. “What I mean to ask is what is their business here? _N’wah_ don’t come to Solstheim for vacations.”

            Shrugging, Geldis suggested, “You could always _ask_ them.” He chuckled at his own joke.

            “Ha,” I replied mirthlessly. Pushing out from the counter I waved farewell to Geldis and made my way up the stairs and out the door. The sunlight was unforgivingly bright and I winced a little in pain. Definitely not the _worst_ hangover I’d ever had, but certainly bad. “Gods be damned,” I grumbled.

            I glanced over at Glover’s, thinking that I might visit him, but discovered the Nords Geldis had mentioned were talking with him. From a distance I could only tell that they weren’t just any Nords. Both were big, muscled and wore a set of bear skins around their shoulders. Heavily armored and well-equipped, the taller of the two had his arms crossed and was growling in low, irritated tones. The other was quiet, one of his hands readied on his axe.

            Glover was loudly pounding away, doing his best to ignore the two men. Against my better judgment, I walked to the blacksmith’s. I really did need to see Glover about my armor and some supplies but I was also interested in catching their conversation. As I reached the forge, I could hear the discussion over the loud crash of metal on metal.

            The tall one seemed to be in charge of the party. “I’m growing impatient.”

            Glover looked up at him momentarily, wiped his brow, and then went back to whatever he was forging. “Grow a third arm for all I care. If you aren’t here to buy anything then leave.” He cocked his head toward the Retching Netch. “You’re going to scare off the customers.” He seemed to have noticed me come around the corner. He nodded in my direction. “Teldryn.”

            I returned the gesture and replied, “Glover.” Not wanting to attract any more attention, I quickly made my way to the grindstone and straddled the seat. I unsheathed my sword and moved my foot up and down against a pedal, causing the stone wheel to spin quickly. Every now and then a spark flew as I pushed the edges of my blade down. Once in a while, out of the corner of my eye, I’d catch the smaller of the two sizing me up.

            “Blacksmith, you are treading a _very_ fine line.” The larger one’s accent sounded strange here in Morrowind. It had been such a long time since I’d heard thick Nord speech. The Skaal sounded nothing like their distant Skyrim relatives, but the similarities were there. “King Ulfric doesn’t cater to the whims of men who abandoned their home.”

            Somehow my body kept the grindstone moving despite the fact my blood had frozen in my veins. If these were Ulfric’s men then no good would come of it. I could think of only one reason they would be on Solstheim: Rook.

            I heard Glover slam something down and then yell, “If Ulfric wants to come to Solstheim and drown my arse in the waters himself, then I invite him to do so!” He waved his arm in invitation. “Until then, _LEAVE_.” I couldn’t see the looks on their faces but I could hear them grumbling something about dark elves.

            Once they were out of ear shot, Glover grunted. “Can’t believe the nerve of those Stormcloak. They win their own damn war and they act like they own the whole gods damned world.” He brought his hammer down with so much force, I thought I heard something crack.

            I nodded and carefully asked, “They give you any trouble?”

            “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He stopped what he was doing, as if realizing it was me for the first time. “Where’s your boss? I need to speak with her.”

            “My boss? No. Yours? Still.” I couldn’t help but jab at him with the knowledge I had. My attention turned back to the grindstone. A few moments later, a shadow covered me. I immediately stopped what I was doing.

            I looked up at Glover to find his arms crossed and his face stone. “Congratulations. Only took you a few years, but you figured out I’m part of the Guild. Or, the more likely explanation, Rook told you.”

            I scoffed and took my blade from the stone, inspected it. “Oh, come off of it. I’m not going to tell anyone. And I don’t know where she is. She dismissed me.”

            He didn’t seemed convinced. “You expect me to believe that?”

            I shrugged and ran a cloth over the newly-sharpened edges of my gilded sword. “Why is everyone surprised that a mercenary isn’t bound to someone until death? She hired me. She didn’t marry me.”

            Glover walked over to his door. “Let’s talk inside. Don’t want those two wandering by and listening to us.” I did as he asked. As soon as he shut the door to his modest dwellings, he began, “The Nords told me they were looking for a woman about this high,” his hand measured to about Rook’s height, “Probably keeps her face covered at all times and, oh, more than likely wouldn’t know what respect was if it speared her through the gut. Do _you_ know anyone like that, Teldryn Sero?”

            Removing my helm and pulling down my kerchief, I searched his face for any signs of deception. Surely, he had to have known that the Stormcloaks were looking for her because she was the Dragonborn. Unless, of course, he _didn’t_ know. But that seemed strange. Rook was the Thieves Guild’s master. She would have told them. But another part of me argued that she seemed fiercely intent on not letting anyone know who she was. It was quite possible that Glover truly did not know. And I seriously doubted Rook would be pleased if I were to be the one to break the news.

            “So they’re looking for her.” I shrugged. “She’s a criminal. Maybe they want to arrest her?”

            “ _Arrest_ her?” Glover chuckled a little at that and then pulled out a chair from the small table to rest in. “You’ve seriously no idea who she is to even think that’s a possibility.”

            “Not a clue.” I sat in a chair opposite him.

            “Shame, you don’t know where she is.” He crossed his arms, rested them on the table’s surface. “Was going to ask for help with something.”

            I sincerely wished we could move past Rook. I didn’t want to think or talk about her. “She’s been more than a little preoccupied.”

            “From what I hear she’s always preoccupied.” He met my eyes. “It’s a wonder that woman can do anything at all.”

            And I kept telling myself to not ask. I nodded but he knew things that I didn’t. Information that he was dangling in front of me. Again, I told myself it wasn’t important. My mouth thought otherwise. “Too preoccupied to get arrested?”

            With _that,_ Glover gave a slight smile. “What? She not give you details about herself? She just hire you without telling you who she was?”

            Damn me, he had the measure of her alright. It made me wonder what exactly he _did_ know. And now he was fishing for an exchange. I would have bet my bow that he wanted me to pull whatever job he wanted to talk to Rook about. “She doesn’t like details,” I curtly stated.

            “Shame,” he repeated. He left the word hanging in the air, just begging me to pluck it from sky.

            I lazily slapped my hand against the table and sighed, “What do you need done, Glover?”

            “Glad you asked,” he laughed joylessly. “I’ll pay you for the job, of course.”

            “Of course.”

            “Well, you aren’t exactly Guild but if Rook trusted you enough to tell her she was the Guild Master, I’m sure you’re trustworthy.”

            I twirled a finger around. “Get to the point.”

            “The Guild’s got a bit of a problem out here but I’m the only member around and haven’t exactly had the time to fix it.”

            “This already sounds like something I’m going to ask double for,” I warned.

            He ignored me. “A fellow Breton who told me his name was Esmond Tyne showed up on my doorstep about a fortnight ago…” he sounded a little ashamed. “I didn’t exactly tell Elyrrya the whole story because I was embarrassed.”

            My brow furrowed in confusion. I _almost_ asked who in Oblivion Elyrrya was before it came to me: Rook. It took all I had not to burst out laughing. The name sounded too flowery and gentle to belong to her.

            He must have caught my expression change from uncertainty to realization because he slapped a hand against his forehead. “So, she didn’t tell you _that._ Just my luck. She’ll get over it. Anyway the thing is I thought he was part of the Guild from Cyrodiil. Turns out he wasn’t. Bastard stole my formula for bonemold. Took me years to perfect.”

            “And you want me to get it back for you,” I guessed.

            “If it helps, I’ve recently learned of his whereabouts. I only told Rook the general direction but not the exact location. Which is why she probably hasn’t taken any time to retrieve it. Turns out someone around here heard him talking some nonsense about trying to fence goods to the Rieklings at Castle Karstaag before he ran off. I'd bet a fat purse of coin that he's either dead or hiding out up there.”

            “Rieklings,” I groaned. “Fantastic.”

            Glover shrugged. “Job’s yours if you want it.”

            And both of us knew I was going to take the job but I remained vague. “I’ll think about it.”

            “Good enough.” Glover gave me one last look, offering me a chance to take advantage of the silence to ask about all those questions he’d planted in my head. I almost had the sense to walk away but things kept nagging at me. Glover obviously knew things about Rook and my curiosity was getting the better of me. I finally gave in, leaning into the chair and throwing one arm over the back of it. I had my doubts that this job would be enough to buy me everything I wanted to know. “I’ll pay you for anything you can tell me about Rook.”

            Glover grinned at me. “What’d she do? _Rob_ you?” He laughed at his own joke. “Hmmm…” he rubbed a hand down his chin. “Gold for information, huh? Guess it depends on what you want to know.”

            _I_ didn’t even know what I wanted to know. “Everything,” I threw out wildly.

            Glover shrugged. “Well, either way, the _everything_ I know isn’t a whole lot. My brother stopped sending me letters about a year and a half ago. Told me the guild was booming. I bet he barely has time to count his gold.”

            “One hundred gold for everything.”

            He furrowed his brow and gazed at me. A bit more seriously, he asked again, “What _did_ she do to you?”

            “Take it or leave it.”

            He sighed. “Fine.” When he stretched out his hand I promptly dropped a bag of coins into the well of his palm. “Like I said, year and a half or two years ago, my brother writes and tells me he’s helping the Brotherhood relocate. Some nasty business with a quick change in management.”

            “The Assassins? Thought they were long gone from Skyrim.” I was more than a little interested in how the Dark Brotherhood played into this story.

            “They all but were. But then they managed to pull themselves up. If Delvin is to be believed, they killed the emperor.”

            I shook my head in surprise. “Titus Mede II? Had no idea he’d been assassinated.”

            “Neither did I, but you know as well as I that we never hear anything about the Empire out here.” Glover got up and retrieved a bottle of ale from a counter. I refused his offer for one. He continued, “Either way, they needed some help moving their headquarters. The new leader approached my brother, tells him she has the gold if he has the resources. Well, Brynjolf takes notice of her. The way Delvin tells it, he sweet talked her into staying—no surprise there, really. Bryn was always the charmer.”

            “And who’s Brynjolf?”

            “Had been Mercer Frey’s second-in-command. Although how he managed to _stay_ there is a bit puzzling considering circumstances the way I understand.”

            Whatever I had expected to find out, it wasn’t this. Rook wasn’t just a simple thief. An assassin. With the Brotherhood of all groups. And, if I understood correctly, the master of _that_ group as well. Suddenly some things made sense. I’d been an idiot not to see it. She liked blades but seemed a bit clumsy with her one-handed sword. In Ashfallow Citadel, she’d killed Vendil by shoving her sword upward through his neck. I briefly recalled thinking that a strange way to use such a large blade but then she’d been stabbed so it had been forgotten. But it wasn’t just that. The way she seemed to know how the Morag Tong seemed unusual as well—until one considered that she was also an assassin. 

And Brynjolf must have been the man who'd broken her heart. That seemed to pale in comparison in light of other discoveries though. Glover’s voice broke through my thoughts.

            “Well, she stays. Decides the Brotherhood is doing well enough and once she sees the guild is failing puts her foot down. Says if no one was willing to impose order, she’d do it for them. Picks up on the discrepancy in the books and starts putting it together, realizes it’s the Guildmaster. So, she kills him.” I stared at him in surprise. “Well, there’s a longer story I’m sure but Delvin isn’t known for writing novels. But she becomes the Guildmaster. Easy as that.” He looked at the bag of gold and pursed his mouth in comtemplation. After a second he thoughtlessly took out a few pieces. “Here.”

            “What’s this for?” I take the pieces before hearing the answer.

            “I didn’t tell you everything. Figured that’s for her to tell you if the topic ever comes up. Although, I wouldn’t tell her you know about her time in the Brotherhood. The way Delvin tells it, there’s some bad blood between her and that faction.”

I glanced at the pieces of gold shining dully in my hand. “Thanks. I’ll take care of that job for you, bring back what I can find,” I offered and left to talk with Fethis. My hands had already shoved the coins back into the bag on my belt, but I couldn’t take my mind off of wondering what hidden knowledge their value held. Glover knew more than I did but not enough to sate my curiosity. He didn’t know who she was either aside from some secondhand gossip from his brother.

Sighing, I went to prepare myself for the trip to the cold north of the island.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Luckily, I had most of this chapter edited before the semester became wild. I'm very nervous about this update because it's very much the start of the story where I don't want to spell everything out. But I also don't want to lose people along the way. So, if in consequent chapters I'm a bit more evasive about giving more definite answers or if things seem a bit confusing, let me know if it's effecting enjoying the story. Part of really getting into something is being unable to uncover small things that have a big impact but I know that not everyone enjoys that sort of storytelling.
> 
> A thanks to emeralddragons, Deedsterm, moon_and_star, nausicaa, and a lot of lovely guests who've left kudos and another special thanks to SuFin20 for taking the time to leave comments!
> 
> Next chapter? I guess we'll get to see what Rook has been up to since leaving Teldryn. Also, Neloth! Thanks for reading! - Ash


	19. A New Source of Irritation

Although it was now dusk, I knew the reason for the darkening ash wasn’t because of the lack of light. I was near Brodir Grove. Fairly certain no reavers would have dared returned in my few hours of absence, I didn’t bother readying a spell. When I came upon it, the encampment was completely scorched. Like the ash around it, the whole camp had taken on a dull, lifeless color. Against my better judgment I decided to pass through it. The wind picked up a little and piles of ash began to thin out, now floating free in the sky. I shouldn’t have lingered there. But I did. I sat on a charred log and thought about what I’d learned from Neloth. I had spent the last half of the day seeking him out. He had been more than elated to see me once I took my mask off.

            “Well, aren’t you looking well?” He had immediately reached for my arm and I pulled away.

            “Just tell me if you can fix this,” I replied curtly.

            His smile reminded me of a skeever’s grin. “I was hoping you’d return. But so soon? Hah!” Neloth pointed to my face. “I knew it wouldn’t be long.”   

            I rubbed my eyes thinking that doing so would maybe change what he was seeing. His reaction was all I needed to know that how I felt in my head was now starting to show on my face. There was no hiding what was going on unless I kept myself covered. My stomach lurched. “I thought I felt better after meeting with Hermaeus. More lucid.”

            The way he’d ran over to a small adjoining chamber was a like a small boy on a festival day. “Yes, well, I had my suspicions about why that was. You seemed more like yourself—whatever that is—after you came back from Apocrypha. It made me think that my initial theories about the madness were correct.” Neloth ran his long fingers against the webbed root door and a spark of some light beckoned it open. Clamoring inside he hurriedly began moving stacks of books around, shuffling papers. I took cautious steps toward the door to get a better look inside.

            It was a cramped space made even more cluttered by shelves, a table, and what I could only guess was the staff enchanter Neloth had mentioned before. The table was made of some light wood and attached were two crutches on either side of it that held a lifeless looking staff. Neloth popped up with a book in hand and glared at me. “Shoo! Out! This is not an area for the likes of you.” He waved his hands at me fervently.

            I stepped backwards, my hands in the air. “Gods above, Neloth.” I sighed.

            His eyes didn’t move from mine. “I thought it was just that ruffian you traveled with but your manners are just as horrible.”

            The mention of Teldryn shot an unexpected shock through my chest. “Get to the point, Neloth.”

            He opened the book and I realized it was another Black Book. “If you’d like to delay and reduce the effects of Hermaeus Mora, you should find more these books. All of them have something to be gained, something important that might help you. Although I would be more than happy to just keep you here and chart your progress into insanity.” I shot him a look. “I could do great things with that knowledge,” he countered. “Especially if you and Miraak end up fighting over Solstheim… my, wouldn’t that be something? A repeat of history.”

            “A repeat?” I felt my hands wandering to my pouch. I clasped them together.

            “Mmmhmm,” Neloth was absorbed in reading. “Old legends from the Skaal recount that Solstheim was ripped from Skyrim during a great battle between a traitor and someone else. I would wager to guess Miraak was the traitor.”

            I nodded and started tapping my foot. Neloth noticed. “Look at you, already slipping away. It’s been less than a few days since we last saw each other and I’ll bet you’ve been having trouble controlling yourself.”

            I swallowed and simply nodded. He shoved the book into my hands. “Read,” he commanded. Instantly my eyes started following patterns, swirling into and out of the book. I felt my head clear so I kept reading. I felt my feet move on their own, pacing. “ _The City of Inkseeds rose from the desert, shining and decadent_ …” I felt my mouth moving on its own. Before I recited another word, Neloth snatched the book from me, slamming it shut. He waved it by the spine.

            “ _This_ could aid your search in finding other books. _But,”_ he amended. “Do some things for me first.” Neloth smiled again in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. “How would you like to advance the art of magic?”

            A number of unpleasant side effects later, he then asked to copy the _Epistolary Acumen._ “Too dangerous to actually have the real copy lying around… but you know that, don’t you?” And with that he handed me the copy of _The Hidden Twilight_.

            Now I was standing back at Brodir Grove wishing that before I had dismissed Teldryn I would have had the sense to ask for the map back. Solstheim wasn’t terribly large but my feet hadn’t memorized the place yet. I bought a map from Neloth’s apprentice but it had few things marked. I did my best to mark what I could remember but, once again, Teldryn had been keeping up with that end of the work. From what I could make out, I had a feeling the next place I would find a book would be north. I pulled out the weather worn map and looked at it.

            Reading _The Hidden Twilight_ was unusual. Despite being a Black Book, it didn’t forcibly draw me into Apocyrpha but rather Apocrypha sat there on the other side and would wait until I stepped in. It was as if it knew I would eventually do so, therefore it could afford to be patient. I had read the book a couple of times now and I could almost feel my head clearing into sanity. When I looked at the map now it was much the same feeling. My eyes would lazily scan but then against my will would settle in one place.

            I felt my hand smooth over the spot my eyes settled now. It wasn’t marked but a few places near it were marked as “Northshore Landing” and “Castle Karstaag.” I recognized the area as where Saering’s Watch had been. Despite not being marked, there seemed to be a road that led from the grove to the area. Undoubtedly there would be some other places along the way and that could only mean more trouble. I folded the map and placed both it and the book into my pouch.

            Looking out at the charred ruins of the camp, I glanced at the singed stones that circled around it. When I stood up to leave, I walked past one and absentmindedly threw my arm out and my fingertips scraped off some of the ash. When my fingers returned to me the pads of all of them were clotted with dark ash. For a minute I let my mind wander back to Teldryn. I made sure that we left on unpleasant terms but that didn’t mean that I still couldn’t have regrets about my decision.

            After I pulled away from him I came to the horrible realization that I had let things go too far. My sudden reaction only confirmed my suspicions that my concern for him had grown greater than simply wondering if I had killed another innocent bystander. The look on his face reminded me of when he would get drunk: all smiles and ease. When he flirted with me I had always thought it just his way to irritate me—every time he put me at ease suddenly pitted in my stomach. I decided to extinguish the flame before it grew wild.

            I could see where it was headed, like some bad plotline to a line of books in the vein of _The Lusty Argonian Maid_. My face burned red hot at the thought of something like _The Strapping Dunmer Sellsword_ and the contents that novel might hold. I had work to do and I was also facing the problem of whatever madness was overcoming me, although that had been temporarily resolved. I liked Teldryn, had come to even trust him to an extent but the last thing I needed was… I couldn’t pin it down but I just knew what it would look like. Sappy. Pathetic. Desperate. The word “satisfying” also crept into my mind but I crushed it immediately.

            As I trudged forward through the clotted ash, my feet crunched dry vegetation. The wind died and the air became thick and oppressive. I felt my foot land on something fleshy: a scathecraw plant. My stomach growled painfully and I exhaled. I had no food and hadn’t eaten a whole lot the past few days. I bent down and ripped out a couple of leaves, using my hand to brush off the dust. I took a bite of a leaf, the stringy plant matter hard to chew and the bitter taste deterring me from putting in the effort. Forcibly, I tried swallowing the wet mass when the taste of ash hit my tongue. I spit out the wad of leaf, the force of my lips causing it to roll up in some ash. My saliva was settling on the dust, causing it to clump unattractively. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and ran my tongue over my lips, still tasting Teldryn on them.

            “To Oblivion with you,” I cursed the plant.

* * *

 

            Pressed flat against a large rock formation jutting out from the ground, I peeked out and squinted. The haze of the night settled over the cabin I’d come across. I could only make out a handful of individuals but guessed they were high elves by the way they spoke—high-lilted voices that resonated like song. My foremost thought was on the elf that seemed to be in charge who was in Thalmor robes. I gritted my teeth painfully and growled low. “ _Thalmor_.”

            What they were doing all the way out in Solstheim was anyone’s guess but I was not their biggest fan. If Ulfric was guilty of being an insufferable bigot, so were the Thalmor. Of course, it was in their own special way. “Mer over Men,” a justicar once told me in Markarth. My breaths came in slow and easy, not wanting to give my position away. I was only one person and more than likely the elf in the robes was a mage. A powerful one. Thalmor weren’t known for mercy.

            I reached into my pouch, digging around for any potions to augment my own magic. Without my sword nowadays I was feeling wholly inadequate. I missed having something tangible in my hand. My hand found a small bottle and I brought it into the low light. The potion itself was a greyish color so I took my chances and hoped it was something that would allow my link to the magic to sustain for a little longer than it usually did. I quickly downed the bottle and a sharpness hit my tongue. It was indeed a magic potion but a weak one. It would have to do. I was running out of supplies because I hadn’t bothered restocking in Raven Rock in weeks.

            I peeked around the side again. There was a long table in front of the cabin. Two of the elves were sitting by a fire and another one was going inside. The elf in the Thalmor robes sat at the table, sipping serenely at something in a flagon. There was no good way to sneak up on any of them and taking them out one by one—the best method considering I was by myself. I resigned to the situation and snapped my fingers. Rolling the spark down into my hand, I grapsed and opened my palm, pushing out energy. The flames grew and began to wind beautifully in and out of my fingers, my grasp on them weakening. Fire didn’t like to be contained. I flew out and began pelting the elves with wildfire.

            The first few shots must have missed because none of them slowed. The soldier from inside the cabin must have heard the commotion because he ran out at a harrowing pace, sword already unsheathed and ready to slice into my gut. I sprinted down the hill and when I went to clear a jump over a fallen tree I felt my foot catch on a stray branch and I hit the ground face first. Hard. Another good reason to always keep my mask on.

            “Oh sweet, Oblvion,” I complained as I attempted to roll around. As a soldier went to swing down on me, I kicked out my leg and forced my foot into his belly. He fell back and I jumped up. Before he could get in another swing, I threw an ice spear at him. He slowed and I took the opportunity to yank the sword from his hand by the hilt. I brought down the handle hard on his helm and then swung to slice through his throat. Without another moment’s thought, I turned on a heel to meet another soldier that had run up beside me. Luckily, my magic wasn’t in short supply. I threw fire into his face. He reeled back screaming and I lunged forward, driving the sword into his belly. The last soldier and the mage had held their positions near the cabin.            

            I exhaled and snapped my fingers, throwing out a void beside them. Both of them jumped in surprised as Arniel’s shade flew beside them. The mage took him on, both trying to fell the other using lightning spells but all that managed to happen was a spectacular light show—the jagged streams hit and bounced off one another. I took the distraction and grabbed my bow, loosing two arrows expertly into both elves’ backs. As I walked back up the hill, Arniel’s shade stared at me and groaned.

            “Yeah,” I replied. “You and me both.”

            Reaching the door of the cabin, I realized that the area was seemingly empty. No farm, no livestock. Just the cabin and the table outside. Strange. When I tried opening the door it wouldn’t budge. I dropped down and inspected the lock. One thing I had learned, some locks wouldn’t succumb to a simple lockpick. I didn’t even bother searching the soldiers. I went straight to the robes of the mage and found a key in his pockets. I pushed open the door.

            Inside was so plain that it was a little unsettling. No decorations, no fire. There were two beds and a small table with some gold on it. I took the gold purse and the spare coins thoughtlessly, the coins easily slipping from my palm to my pouch. I took careful steps around the room, examining the lack of _anything_ that indicated someone lived here. There were thick cobwebs in the cold fireplace and a fine layer of dust over the mantle. When I got close to the staircase that led into the basement I heard someone.

            I readied the sword and slowly crept down the stairs. With each step I tried peering into the basement but was unsuccessful. The old wood even groaned underneath my skilled feet. I could still hear muffled yelling. Finally, I saw a bald man with a thick mustache gagged and bound in the far corner. I didn’t sheath my sword just yet, approaching him slowly. His eyes widened at the sight of me, continuing to shout at me through the cloth jammed in his mouth. The basement wasn’t in much better shape than upstairs, thick with cobwebs and dust. I crouched down toward the man, lifted his chin with the tip of my sword so that his eyes met mine. “Is there anyone else down here?”

            He shook his head violently, his eyes still wide. He was wearing the heavy furs of the Skaal. Deciding the worst of the danger had passed, I bent over and ungagged him. Undoing the binds at his wrists and ankles didn’t seem advantageous at the moment. When I ripped out the dirty, moist rag from his mouth he coughed. Raggedly he asked, “Are you here to rescue me?”    

“I suppose that _is_ what this looks like.”

            His brow furrowed. “Wait. I know you, outsider. You’re the one who freed the Skaal!”

            I stood up. “You must have missed the second part of that story.”

            He looked at me confused but continued. “Well, thank the All-Maker you’re here. Those elves dragged me out of my house in the middle of the night.”       

            “Don’t go thanking the All-Maker just yet. Why did the Thalmor abduct you?” I could already smell the beginnings of something I didn’t want to deal with.

            “Thalmor? I don’t know what that is but those elves wanted to learn the secret of forging stalhrim.” He coughed some more. “Their leader, an elf named Ancarion, he has a map marked with locations of stalhrim deposits.”

            I sighed, already regretting my decision to get involved. Thalmor were annoying but I didn’t want to get sidetracked agreeing to mine some mineral for a few days. “Why does Ancarion want it and where can I find him?”

            “Enchanted ice as hard as iron and as cold as death. It can be forged into powerful weapons and armor but only the Skaal know the secrets to do so. Those elves were torturing me, trying to scare the technique out of me. Ancarion must want to start mining the deposits for himself, start making some stalhrim weapons and armor.”

            He coughed some more and shifted uncomfortably. I crouched back down and began to untie his hands. Unless he was a good actor, I was in no danger.

“They have a ship. They took me there and showed me the map. It’s on the north coast of the island.”

“Northshore Landing?” I guessed.

            “Yes.” His hands free, he rubbed his wrists. Standing up, he used his knees to help him get upright. He desparately grasped my arm and begged, “ _Please_. Do not let Ancarion make those weapons. Kill him or let him live, I care not which. But please take the map from him. It belongs to the Skaal.”

            I shook my head. “I’m busy. Either make it worth my while or go get your own damned map back.”

            He frowned but conceded, “I’ll make you a sword from stalhrim and it will be the finest blade this side of Morrowind.”

            I nodded. “Done. Consider the map returned.”

            He looked unsure but nodded as well. “I will return to the village. Please find me there when you’ve found the map.” He brushed past me and, while climbing the stairs, looked back and added, “May the All-Maker bless your days.”

            When I was sure he was gone, I pulled up a stool at the empty bar and unfolded my map onto the table. I took a piece of charcoal and marked the cabin’s location on the map. I sighed. I was still fairly far from the location I thought the next Black Book was. It would take me hours to get there and it was already dark. I would have to stay here tonight. Thinking I could find something here to fill my belly, I checked the shelves behind the bar and found a dusty bottle of ale. Opening the bottle, I took a long sip and regretted the decision immediately. I spit out the swallow I had taken onto the floor. The ale had been sitting there for so long the taste of ash had settled in through the cracks. I clutched the neck of the bottle in my hand and then hurled it at a wall. The glass exploded against it. The liquid splattered against the stone and then slowly seeped downward.

            “Argh!” I screamed at the empty room.

            All I wanted was to be able to put something to my lips and not be reminded that I probably cared more for Teldryn than I should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the chapter names are a bit of a nod to something, usually quest names. This chapter especially. As you can tell, I survived the semester so I'll try my best to edit and post as many updates as possible. Since deleting the completed work from ffnet, some of you have contacted me asking when I'll have the whole thing back up AO3. The short answer is as soon as possible. Comments and kudos really boost my ambition and motivation though! Speaking of which...
> 
> Thanks to Raindrop, Lusine, and a bunch of lovely guests for leaving kudos and a very special thanks to SaffronTurtle and SuFin20 for their kind words and continued support. All of you have been such an inspiration and source of support while I've been busy. Thanks!
> 
> So, this chapter didn't require too much on the editing end but it does give some hints as to what's going on with Rook. Also, big surprise, the Hero has been roped into something else. Next chapter? We'll catch back up with Teldryn-- perhaps paying attention to locations in the last chapter and this one might give you guys a hint as to what will happen next. If I don't get another update finished this week, have a safe and happy holiday break! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	20. Teldryn Interlude V

            My foot slipped and I silently cursed myself for taking Glover up on his offer. The ruins of Castle Karstaag were separated into two areas. I’d decided to check out the caverns of the castle before traveling farther north. Unfortunately, that meant sliding across a narrow ridge against a mountain with nothing but a deep canyon in front of me. I flattened myself further against the cold rock of the mountain and breathed in slowly, trying to steady my nerves. Cautiously, I moved another foot to the side. My eyes glanced down for a moment. Nothing but ice and a dark hole waited for me if I fell. My heart raced. I took another long step to the side and was able to reach the dark mouth of the caverns. Before going in, I sat on the edge and allowed myself a rest. My breathing was a little uneven.

            Mercenary work usually didn’t require me to risk my neck doing silly things like this. Someone paid me and I was their hireling, plain and simple. Most of the time someone needed my blade or my spells. None of this feats of daring sort of thing. I was never hired to _find_ something. In a way it felt a little degrading stooping to this line of work but I had a suspicion that if Rook was wealthy thanks to the Thieves Guild then so was Glover. Now, left without a steady patron, I was left to my own devices again. I had a bit of money put away but I had also spent a lot on repairs and supplies travelling with Rook. When I saw her again, I would be sure to ask for the week she’d forgotten to pay me. That was going to be an awkward conversation. But being with her had ignited something in me that I thought had been extinguished working for my last patron in Skyrim. I’d began to have thoughts of leaving Solstheim and working again. I would need money for that. A _lot_.

            After I had reclaimed my nerves, I turned and ducked into the cavern entrance. My eyes had to adjust to the lighting but it was almost as bright as the outside. Right at the entrance, a small stream of water flowed somewhere underground to my right. The snow and ice covered trail glittered a little, tiny flecks of light bouncing off here and there. I kept my head down as I stomped through the cold, my boots kicking up the slush that carpeted the tunnel. I heard noises just ahead so I unsheathed my sword. For good measure I also conjured an atronach. It flew in the direction of wherever the tunnel opened up.

            I heard a few unintelligible shouts from the rieklings and assumed my atronach was keeping them busy. A few steps later the tunnel opened up to large room just ahead. Unfortunately, there was nothing but water around me. I groaned and strained to see if there was a ramp or anything that would allow me to bypass trudging through the icy waters. A small patch of ice with a man’s body laying prone on it was the only purchase I could find. I took a deep breath before stepping into the waters and felt myself drop unexpectedly far. I wasn’t sure which shock was biggest: the water rushing over my head or the iciness that began to seep into my armor.

            Gaining my balance, I swam toward the patch of ice, my sword still in my hand as it was useful in pushing away some ice. I hit the large patch and threw my hands over the ledge. Pushing myself upward and out of the water, I felt my body beginning to numb. I had to shove the body out of the way but was eventually able to drag myself beside it. I grumbled in displeasure, the cold creeping its way to my bones. I crouched but before I could examine the body, I felt an arrow whiz by my helm and hit the water with a forceful _plop_. My head snapped up and I threw a ball of fire in the direction of the arrow. There was a shout and then the sound of a body hitting the water.

            “Damned animals,” I cursed. “Now it’s your turn, my friend.”

            Crouching, I was glad to have fully covered hands. I didn’t know how Rook could stand having her fingertips exposed all the time. I imagined that she felt cold but probably ignored it. The man’s body was frozen, his skin a sick greyish-blue and his lips purple. He could almost pass for Dunmer with skin that color. I dug through one of the pouches and found two amethysts and some gold. I checked the other and found a couple of pieces of paper folded together. Flipping the top sheet up, I quickly scanned it and found that it was the formula. It mentioned a few other things that I’m sure would have meant something to Glover and Rook but I couldn’t make tails or heads of it.

            I shoved it into my own pouch, satisfied. I heard a few more rieklings shouting and running in my direction; apparently my atronach had dissipated. I sighed and couldn’t believe that I was actually debating traveling further into the cavern. My job was done and all that needed to happen now was getting the formula back to Glover.

            “Yes,” I told myself, “that sounds sensible.”

            I groaned as I found my feet involuntarily moving toward the direction of the rieklings. The patch of ice led up to a ramp and, as I climbed, the animals decided to try and stab me with their makeshift spears. I swung my sword back and swept low through them easily, all of them barely reaching the height of my kneecaps. A few of them flew into the waters below, splashing loudly and echoing throughout the chamber. More unintelligible screaming followed as I trudged up the ramp and planted my feet firmly on the platform of level ground.

            An arrow _ting_ ed off of my chest plate and I threw fire in the direction of the shot. To my right there was a swinging bridge that didn’t look horribly sturdy. Since it was built by rieklings, I assumed that it wouldn’t bear my weight either. A stray riekling ran across and I threw more fire, setting it and the bridge alight. The riekling screeched and tried reaching the other side, but the bridge burned through too quickly. When it collapsed, the creature tumbled into the water. Either the fire or the ice would finish it off. Despite not being able to cross to the other side, this adventure wasn’t an entire loss. There were a few chests and some unoccupied huts that I was able to rummage through and find a few purses heavy and bulging with gold coins. I pocketed those and contemplated my next action.

            There were rieklings on the other side of the now-inaccessible cavern. Screaming and jumping up and down, some of them were trying to throw spears at me but others could do nothing so they simply added to the row of terrible yelling. I pulled off my bow and easily began to pick them off, one by one. With each arrow I could almost hear Rook beside and observing, “You’d think they’d learn to run away—you’re certainly not picking them off _that_ quickly. It’s almost like they deserve to be killed if they’re stupid enough to stay.” I could imagine that I would then nod and shoot another while she didn’t participate, simply happy to poke fun of my archery skills. I’d then tell her, “Not like you’d do any better.” I shot the last one square in the chest and lowered my bow.

            This was infuriating. I rarely felt anger, true anger, but this was close. It was directed at myself. Mostly. I had been friends with patrons before but when they dismissed me it was on good terms. I’d even been to bed with a few. There was nothing underneath any of the interactions I’d had with my employers. I was an easy-going person, usually well-liked by everyone I met. Most dark elves weren’t exactly welcoming or trusting of others so I’d always counted on my forgiving disposition to find work. My brother often found it infuriating the way I could easily deal with all races, especially Men.

“I can understand you being friendly to other Mer, but _Men_?” he’d asked, incredulous. I could imagine that he would also have some words about the way I called Rook _muthsera_. But no other title seemed to fit her.

I couldn’t blame him. Rook hadn’t exactly proven that all Men were deserving of trust. I supposed it was getting under my skin that I had allowed her to just walk away with no explanation without holding her accountable for her actions. My guess was that sort of thing happened often. She seemed the type to walk away when things got uncomfortable. I crossed my arms and shook my head. Rook wasn’t the type of person to leave because she thought that my life was in danger. But that’s exactly what she had been doing. She didn’t take me to Miraak’s Temple and she’d put herself in front of a blade for me. Then, when she almost burned me whole, she sent me away. I shook my head again because my mind started wandering to the way I could make her laugh unexpectedly at times. There was no untangling what was going through Rook’s head right now. Better to get out of this cave.

            I stared at the other end of the cavern thoughtlessly for a while, wondering what I was missing by burning the bridge recklessly. It couldn’t be helped. Resolved, I continued on and slightly skidded as I slipped on the ice and snow that covered the ramp. I threw my arms out for balance and was able to make it safely down, the dead body back at my feet. I shoved it with a foot lightly. Esmond Tyne’s face was permanently stuck in a grimace, frozen in place. A spray of frozen blood had congealed into icy chunks beneath him; some of it had even stained the ice. I looked beside me into the water and noticed a few of the riekling bodies floating face down.

            So many corpses and no possible way to carry them all out to burn them, not that I’d be the first to volunteer. None of these bodies meant anything to me so I left them there and crouched back to the entrance, more snow and ice crusting over my boots. The light of Solstheim peaked out from the end as if beckoning me to continue. When I finally got to the exit, I had to take care not to slide out too quickly, lest I wanted to take a trip into the ravine below. I breathed out, my breath turning hot inside my kerchief. The difference in temperature caused my goggles to fog over. I took a finger and rubbed the lenses, clearing them of the moist cloud.

            Carefully, I made my way across through the edges of the ravine. When the edge finally wrapped back around I set foot back onto whole land. I let out the breath I’d been holding and thanked the Tribunal. I looked across the way and thought I could make out the proper ruins of Castle Karstaag. Then, something sounded in the distance. A chill went up my spine. I hadn’t become an expert but I was fairly certain that it had been the call of a dragon. Part of me almost wanted it to fly overhead and attack me, feeling the need to take down something so large by myself but a more rational part of me knew that it would be suicide to do so.

            I’d seen Rook’s scars and almost dreaded the thought that those were not the worst causalities of a fight with a dragon. One night she’d said as much. We had been sleeping outdoors, in between running from one All-Maker stone to the next. A small campfire burned between us and I’d taken to absent-mindedly throwing in small ash hopper parts to keep it ablaze. She lay back, arms resting behind her head and her gaze toward the sky.

            “So how many dragons would you say you’ve slain?” I remember asking. She’d been lost in thought starring at the stars and I tried to bring her back down to Nirn. At times it was effective but other times it only dragged her down further into her own mind.

            “I couldn’t keep track of that sort of thing if I tried,” she answered. “It’s not like every would-be hunter is scrambling to take one down. You’re looking at _the_ dragon hunter, Nirn’s only. So, I’ve killed more than I can count. Although at times I’m actually _hired_ to do so.” She laughed a little. “Not that it ever pays as much as I think it should.”

            “So a lot of danger and not enough gold to justify putting yourself in the middle?” I had guessed.

            She laughed harder. “Teldryn, dragons will rip entire limbs off a man. I’ve seen it. Some aren’t so lucky. They get ripped in half and all that’s left to see is some poor fool’s innards wriggling out from what’s left of their stomachs.”

            I arched a brow at her. “Pleasant.”

            “I wouldn’t pity any of them though. Most of them were fool-hardy young men and women who were always screaming out promises to their Jarls and their Holds as they blindly swung swords and then found their arm had vanished.”

            “I’ve never found that blindly aligning myself with a side to ever be helpful,” I noted.

            She threw a candlelight spell overhead and her fingers wound in and out of the light. Her face was cast in brooding shadows, her wild and dark hair somehow more dark against the night and the light. “That’s because nothing good ever comes of it,” she’d muttered with obvious disdain. Then, the candle went out. “Following gold is just as bad though. Means someone can always buy you.”

            I decided to return to Raven Rock. I liked having all of my limbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry: the next chapter will be long enough to make up for the last two's length. I'm usually write long enough chapters to allow for longer breaks in between updates. Apparently, when RoS was first published on ffnet in 2013 I guess I wanted the last chapter and this one to be read as closely in time to one another as possible. The drawbacks of POV-type stories, I suppose. Maybe one day, once the HEP trilogy is finished, I'll go back to my Dragon Age stories which are 3rd person and less confusing.
> 
> Oh well!
> 
> I almost forgot: thanks for 1000 views! Thank you so much for reading and sticking around.
> 
> Thanks to all of the lovely guests who've left kudos and, as always, thanks to SuFin20 for being such a gracious reader and helping out with errors/writing blunders. 
> 
> Next chapter? We'll be back in a Black Book and maybe that dragon will pop back up. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	21. Shock of Cold

Twilight had fallen. Standing on the top of the hill, looking over where I believed the next Black Book to be, I imagined that I would probably be spending the night in the Nordic ruin. It amused me the way Nords stubbornly used the same type of architecture no matter where they went.  I took awkward and small steps down the steep hill, bending my knees and leaning backwards to keep my balance. My arm hit the iron sword at my side, the one I’d taken from the Thalmor soldier. It wasn’t exactly quality but it was better than nothing.

            Giant stone pillars lay on their sides, turned this way and that but half-buried in the snow. Instead of walking the path I decided to climb over one, the cold rock scraping my fingertips. My legs fell into a snow drift and I grumbled. I was now stuck pushing my way through at least two feet of undisturbed snow. With each heavy step I heaved one leg at a time through the weight of the ice, the cold now winding its way from my feet to my legs.

            Luckily, the stretch of path a few feet away from the entrance cleared. I stepped under the awning of the entrance, a torch glowing warmly by the heavy iron door. I took the torch and pushed open the door. As stone scraped against stone, I was met with a rather unsettling scene: the chamber just inside the entrance was sparsely furnished save for two dead reavers whose blood was splattered against the floor and walls.

            “Wonderful,” I muttered. I walked over to a door on the far side of the room. A body and a wooden plank blocked the door so I first had to drag the body aside before I could push up the plank. The body was long dead so little blood ended up on my person but it was heavy. When I pulled the door open, another dead reaver that had been leaning against the other side fell on my feet. My initial reaction was annoyance. I looked down, sighed. Kicking the head off of my boots, I continued down the stairs.

            I never minded investigating ruins that ran deep underground. Crafted from old caves, the rush of cool air as the air pressure changed descending below the ground was almost pleasant. Well, once one got past the smell of dank and fungus. When I passed a dead albino spider, I began to suspect I had made a mistake. It wasn’t business as usual to pass so many dead things in such a short period of time. At the bottom of the stairs was another dead reaver. I fought the urge to crouch down and ask him what was going on. It might have been comical if I weren’t alone.

            Following down a tunnel thick with cobwebs and dust, I passed more dead things and conjured a bow. Out of arrows, my own bow was useless for now. I was becoming increasingly suspicious of whatever was going on here. As if confirming my worries, I heard the skittering of something small and quick. I drew back an arrow and took another cautious step. As if on cue, an albino spider creeped out of the shadows and I loosed the arrow, hitting it squarely its thick body. It let out some pathetic sounding screech and then curled into a ball. As I continued, I found another dead reaver.

            “What in Oblivion is going on here?” I asked no one in particular. My own voice answered me in an echo.

            There was a fork in the path but once I took one, I realized that it fed into the other like a loop. Both led to a door that only opened to a set of stairs spiraling further downward into the ruins. As I stepped in, I looked up and groaned. The entirety of the ceiling was clotted with thick webs. Taking the steps down two by two I found that the walls were also covered in a thin layer of the sticky stuff, dirt and debris stuck in between the fine lines. By the time I reached the bottom, my wet boots were covered in the thick, sticky webbing that lined the floor as well.

            Further in there were a few more spiders but nothing that worried me. What did concern me was how quiet everything was. All I’d found so far were spiders and a generous coating of webbing everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without having the stuff sticking to either my cloak or my armor. In the center of the room I’d reached was a collection of lit votive candles and urns but nothing of real interest. Ahead were a set of wooden platforms that didn’t look too terribly unsafe so I chanced stepping onto them. The only response was some loud creaking and groaning as the old wood began to accommodate for my weight.

            I looked down and found a ramp leading down but there was a bridge that needed to be lowered. Easy enough, the chain was near the platform. I heard some commotion below as the bridge came down, obviously alerting someone to my presence. I rushed to one of the planked walls, flattened against it, and drew my bow. I inhaled, exhaled. Quickly, I turned and found a bandit looking around wildly. The arrow went straight through his neck and he dropped like a stone, clutching the wound with blood spurting between his fingers. Another came rushing to his side, making him an easy target.

            I aimlessly wandered the bottom floor, fighting the urge to yawn. I couldn’t tell if the lack of sleep or food was the culprit or if the sheer lack of danger around me was driving me to a kind of special ennui. There had been another bandit and countless spider nests that I took my sword to once my bow had dissipated. It wasn’t until I pushed forward that I found an iron door covered in thick webbing that the action picked up. The second I opened the door, a draugr popped up out of its sarcophagus. I sheathed my sword and readied fire in both hands, the web residue on both my gloves burning to crisp. The moment it lunged at me with a greatsword, I immediately recognized it as a deathlord.

            “Gods above!” I screamed at it as I jumped backwards down a set of stairs and stumbled. I threw fire at the creature and its dried tissue and bones burst into flames. “I don’t understand how it’s so _hard_ to stay _dead_!” It reared back and was about to shout when I beat it to the punch. “ _FUS… RO DAH_!”

The draugr flew backwards and exploded into a pile bones and dust. I calmly sauntered back up the stairs and after a few more twists and turns, found myself in an entirely different area of the ruins. The walls were encrusted with thick layers of ruby geode deposits. Against the fire, they glittered brightly and refracted light into multi-lined rainbows across the walls. I ran a hand across one of the deposits. Glover had let me keep an old ax I had to wrangle from an old man but mining just wasn’t anything I had an interest in.

            I kept walking and found more already dead reavers and some twice-dead draugrs—both sets lying against walls. Another door opened up to an immensely huge cavern within the ruins. I crept along carefully, but not so careful that I was trying to disguise my presence. From a distance I heard someone drop something. I froze. I drew my sword and the noise attracted attention. Running around a few pillars, I came face to face with a Dunmer mage and her army of flaming, jumping spiders.

            I jumped back as one spider leapt and exploded near me, a ball of flame left in its wake. The mage took a swipe at me once my attention was divided and hit me in the arm. My sword flew out of my grasp. I moved sideways but another flaming spider hit my arm and I grabbed it in pain. I kept moving backwards and sideways trying to avoid both the mage and her spiders, surprised that I wasn’t tripping over my feet moving in and out. I gathered ice in my hand and threw it at the nearest target. A spider exploded on the mage and she staggered backwards. Drawing up another ice spike, I threw it into her face. My palm met with her bloody and broken face, the ice having speared through through her eye socket. One stray spider came running up from behind and exploded, causing my cape to catch fire. I mindlessly flicked the robe backward and forth, extinguishing the flames. Bringing it around me, I sighed.

            I was not as put together as I would have liked nowadays. I was tired. I was hungry. I was fairly certain that I didn’t look so imposing now that my cloak was in a shambles, the ends of the fabric no longer reaching my knees, frayed and messy. I desperately needed to see Glover—my armor was developing kinks in the panels and there were a few places that were wearing thin. I rubbed my head and felt the beginnings of another headache coming on. I exhaled and pulled out a Black Book. As I began reading it wasn’t lost on me that I had already had to do this twice on the way to this place. Being dragged to Apocrypha meant a strange shift in ime when I returned, finding it was always a few seconds or minutes later than it really should have been. I began to suspect that the time shift would increase the more I had to do this.

            While in Apocrypha I usually spent a few minutes pouring over some old tomes around me but I didn’t dare explore any further than where I would arrive. I was becoming increasingly concerned that I would get to exploring and find myself losing hours at a time. As long as I tried to keep an eye on the time, it didn’t seem to interfere with whatever I was doing back on Tamriel. Not greatly anyway.

The moment I reappeared back in Tamriel, I felt something breeze by my head. I turned quickly, noticed a bandit swinging his sword and ready to strike again. I drew my sword and almost lazily swung at his throat. He fell, choking and gasping for breath. Leaving him there to die, I glanced down at the body of the mage I had killed and began to rifle through the large pouch she had attached to her belt. She had a number of spider eggs on her which I promptly crushed with my feet. I took an unmarked key and a journal. Flipping through it there was nothing interesting—just the ramblings of a madwoman. The moment the thought crossed my mind though I shivered at how similar the ramblings and my own thoughts now became at times.

            I ended up getting lost at some point, retracing my steps. I was usually good at keeping my bearings by using dead bodies or creatures as reminders as where I had been but the ruin had been overrun by albino spiders such that one room looked like the next after a while. I eventually came upon a large room with an unusually large number of them. In addition there was a cage with a dead Dunmer inside. I didn’t even bother checking the body. I had grown jaded to the strange things I often found within abandoned ruins. I kept walking forward, my steps becoming heavier. I yawned and checked the time, being mindful to only do so once. It was already past midnight. I had been in here longer than I expected to be.

            After a few more minutes, I thought I could hear something faint. I took a few more steps and realized it was chanting. A word wall. It wasn’t expected but if it helped me against Miraak, I’d take it. I didn’t trust Hermaeus Mora. He gave me some of the words that Miraak knew but there were other ones that I knew I’d heard him shout, ones that allowed him to wield the power beyond my own. As I moved into the next room, my suspicions were confirmed. Under a layer of spider webs was the characteristic curved stone of a wall. Moving ever closer, I could hear the chanting grow louder and my vision began to dim. I could see the word but I didn’t quite understand what it meant. I was startled out of my brief meditation by the forceful opening of a sarcophagus.

            From it sprang an ethereal form, heavily armored and rotted with a flowing, tattered robe. The mask gave it away: dragon priest. The priest threw his hands above him and his form took on an icier glow, frost now surrounding his visage. I immediately summoned Arniel’s shade to distract him. It worked well enough; the dragon priest was using a shout I wasn’t familiar with but left a strong stream of ice in its wake. I breathed in and willed both of my hands to catch fire; a flurry of flame covered my arms and I swooped them together and outward in an arch, causing a curved, flamed wall to hit the dragon priest.

            Arniel was still attacking but my actions caused the priest to focus on me as the new center of attention. He reared back and shouted at me. I wasn’t quick enough to block the stream of frost and the ice cut through my bones. I dropped to my knees and felt weak. It hurt the way ice might burn one’s fingertips but was spread through my entire body. I struggled to stand but it felt like even the slightest movement was like lifting a boulder. I looked up quickly enough though to see the priest spring to attack again and I did the only thing I could: dropped like a stone. Whatever he had tried to attack me with skimmed my back and tore at my cape. I growled at the discovery and was invigorated by my annoyance. I balled my fists and when I opened them, fire appeared and I hit him as hard as I could.

            Luckily, Arniel had done a lot of the work so when I attacked, it knocked the priest down. Its form floated listlessly for a moment and then suddenly exploded into a fine, iridescent dust. I scrambled to my feet and threw a healing spell over myself, trying to recover from the cold that was stinging at my bones. When I finally examined the priest, I noticed that his mask looked different from the others I had collected. It looked thinner, had more ridges, and didn’t resemble a face at all except for the closed eyes. I pocketed it and patted my pouch, satisfied. I left the large chamber and found myself in another, smaller room.

            Centered on a collection of candles laid my prize: a Black Book. I picked it up and read the title aloud. “ _The Sallow Regent…_ ” Opening it I realized it was a play. A few moments later, I was sucked into Apocrypha again.

* * *

 

            The book dropped out of my hands as soon as I came back.

            It had been a little more disturbing than usual; most of the areas had been covered in a kind of sick darkness and every time I attempted to walk through it, the void cut through me and left me weak. I eventually just stayed in one spot, a candlelight spell over me the entire time. As I picked the book back up, I realized I was shaking. I crammed the book into my pouch and tried shaking my hands out. I was probably just tired. Hungry.

            Of course I was. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. Although that might have been untrue. I think the last time I ate was with Teldryn near Nchardak. It might have been the last time I had slept as well. How long ago was that? A week? Impossible. I would have dropped dead by now. Then again, I was the Dragonborn. A lot of things that killed lesser men left me unaffected. And this madness. It was also causing me to forget to remember to eat or sleep. Water had been no issue but it wouldn’t be enough to keep me going much longer.

            I pulled out my timepiece and involuntarily let out a cry of despair. I had stayed in Apocrypha over two hours, not a pleasant discovery. The benefit, however, was that I almost felt as good as new when it came to my thoughts. It seemed that the longer I stayed, the longer the effects of how well I felt back on this plane were. A simultaneously horrific and wonderful discovery. It was already three in the morning. I backtracked and eventually found a ladder that had an opening that led to Solstheim. Luckily, the key I had swiped from the mage earlier opened the door.

            As I stepped outside, a rush of delicious cool air hit me. I lowered my hood and placed my own mask in my pouch. The cave had gotten to be stuffy and oppressive so the early morning air was a welcome relief. I took my hands and ran them through my hair, the wind gently blowing a few stray strands here and there. I sat at the edge of the doorway I had come out of and frowned at my cloak. I took the edges of it in one hand and noticed that there were now large holes in it. There was no repairing it now. I unlatched it from my shoulders and let it fall behind me. I felt naked now with no face coverings and no cape. All I wore was the black Nightingale armor but it seemed like it could still be salvaged. I was going to have to go back to the Twilight Sepulcher at some point and replace the entire suit. It was durable but all armor could only be repaired so often. I took one last look at the cape, wondering if I should keep it when I heard a dragon roaring close to me.

            I jumped to my feet and immediately unsheathed my sword. I saw it fly from over the mountain, now closer to me. It was shouting at something in the direction opposite of me. Usually, I would have let this sort of thing slide because, for all their power, dragons would attack anything on the ground that moved. Sometimes it would be an innocent person who’d been traveling, other times it was a bandit, and other times it would be an unlucky elk. This time though, it seemed like a good chance to try out what I had learned from Hermaeus Mora. Who cared about whatever it was chasing? I was feeling weak but not so much that adrenaline didn’t allow me to propel down the cliff side. I wasn’t far above the ground but I had to do a fair bit of jumping and swinging around jagged formations that a misstep would have been met with a painful tumble.

            It flew in lazy circles and I stupidly ran after it. If anyone had seen me then they would have thought my mind had broken for good. I flailed my arms trying to get its attention, shouted obscenities at it. No matter what I tried it was too focused on whatever it was chasing. It also wasn’t staying still enough for me to get a good enough aim. It shouted another time and a rush of flame came trailing in its wake. It was blindingly bright but once it subsided I noticed another rush of light that came from nowhere: an atronach.

            I slapped my hand against my forehead. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.” I was going to kill Teldryn myself if this dragon somehow mangled the job. The dragon flew around the mountain as if waiting for its prey; I took the opportunity to sprint as fast as I could. My legs ached painfully but running downhill made the job easier. My hair flew wildly behind me and the wind was whipping at my face agonizingly. There were several rock formations the dragon had been aiming its attack and it took me a few seconds to find him, back flat against the rocks and breathing heavily.

            When Teldryn saw me, I could tell his surprise almost outweighed whatever fear was in place. I crouched and flattened myself beside him. I half-whispered and half-hissed, “Do I even _want_ to know how you got into this mess?”         

            He threw his hands up in innocence. “Hi, nice to see you too.” I thought I saw him smirk under his kerchief. “But in all seriousness, I’m glad to have help.”

            “Who said I was here to help?” I complained and looked around a corner. The dragon was still flying close but not close enough for me to attack. I felt my own breathing a little more labored than usual.

            “So were you following me around, hoping I’d get into trouble or is this just a happy coincidence?”

            “Coincidence? Yes,” I gasped. “We can qualify it later when we _aren’t being chased by a dragon_.” I glared at him. “Are you _smiling_ right now? Because I will have no qualms about letting the dragon eat you. Why in Oblivion did you provoke it?”

            He laughed. “Now _that’s_ ironic because that’s _exactly_ what I was trying to _not_ do.”

            “You ran!” I yelled. “Who runs from a dragon?”

            “Someone who doesn’t want to be _killed_ by one!” he yelled back.

            “Dragons _chase_ you. They will chase you to the ends of Nirn if you have enough energy. The bastards have nothing better to do than to wreak havoc,” I explained. I heard the dragon shout in the distance. My breathing became steadier.

            He shot me a look. “ _Sorry_ , I must have missed that lesson somewhere.”

            I looked back, noticing the dragon still flying around. I dug around in my pouch hoping I could find some spare arrows but came up empty. I didn’t want to waste any energy casting spells when I didn’t know how much energy this new shout was going to need. “What _were_ you doing out here anyway?”

            Teldryn had been looking around the rock formation as well. He turned his head back to look at me. “Could we have this pleasant yet awkward conversation after this is over?” The dragon’s cry was sounding closer. “I would prefer to live through this.”

            “Says the man who’s been running from this thing for an hour.”

            “My _deepest_ apologies for not reading the bestiary entry on dragons beforehand,” he drolled.

            I rolled my eyes. “Yes, _that_ makes this situation better. Just stop running around. I need this thing to stay still long enough for me to hit it accurately.”

            Teldryn didn’t reply but simply nodded and remained where he was. I looked over the rocks and found the dragon almost on top of us. “Whatever you do, _don’t move_ ,” I warned. “I’ll be right back.” And with that I ran around the corner at a sprint. The dragon didn’t see me at first but once I started the shout it was too late for it to attack. I reared back and inhaled as deeply as I could. I could almost feel myself swallowing the words, choking on them and when I released it was like someone had punched me in the gut. Hard. “ _GOL… HAH DOV_!”

            A brilliant flash of light exploded violently and I was knocked back by the force, hitting some rocks. The dragon cried out as it swallowed up the light and then consumed by it. One second it was in the air and the next it landed with a thud in front of me, its face close enough that I could reach out and touch it. It made no move to attack. The pain that shot through my back wasn’t so crippling that I couldn’t stand but I placed a hand on the small of it, rubbing it tenderly. “What in Nocturnal’s name is this?” I asked. I tentatively put my hand out and touched it. The dragon remained motionless.

            I then realized where I’d seen this before: Miraak in Apocrypha when he’d had that dragon and then he mounted it. That was the power of this shout. Control over the ground and the mortals and the _dov_. The sudden realization washed over me so quickly that it scared me. To have this kind of power was more than unnatural or unholy. It was something no one should ever possess. Coupled with the power and force required to produce such a thu’um, I was uncertain if I could even defeat Miraak. He’d had thousands of years of practice with this shout. I almost injured myself using it the first time. And now I had a huge monster breathing hot air on me, completely docile.

            I heard Teldryn call out, “What is going on out there?”

            I looked back momentarily and then back at the dragon, not wanting to break the spell. “I… uh… that is a very good question and I will be more than happy to entertain it later once I’m not staring this thing down.”

            “Staring? What…?” he appeared from behind the rocks and then exclaimed, “ _What_ in Oblivion are you _doing_?”

            I looked at him in earnest. “This. This was what Storn’s sacrifice was for.” I reached out again to touch the dragon as if to prove a point.

            Teldryn flinched. “You aren’t serious.”

            “I’m sorry, can you not see the two ton beast in front of me?”

            “So you don’t do this normally?” he sounded genuinely inquisitive.

            “ _Normally_?” I shrieked. The dragon stirred and I lowered my voice. “Does any part of this look _normal_ to you?”

            He crossed his arms. “A lot of things don’t look normal around you.”

            “Fair point,” I conceded. I began to walk slowly around the dragon, keeping my hand on its leathery, rough skin. I could hear Teldryn draw in sharp breaths. I decided to ignore him and used a hand to pull myself up and over the crest that outlined the crown of the dragon’s head. I readjusted and straddled it comfortably.

            I could see Teldryn’s face drop behind his mask. “Now I _know_ you’ve gone mad. Get off before that thing kills you!”

            I shrugged, “I’ve done this before, no sweat. Wait here.” I kicked my heels and with it the dragon flew upward rapidly, almost throwing me off. I grabbed on tightly and dug my heels in as I tried to will it to turn right. It did as I commanded and I laughed wildly. I swooped down close to Teldryn and shouted, “Look! It’s working!”

            I thought I could hear something like, “Working on dropping you to your death!”

            The adrenaline that flooded my system was intoxicating. With each plunge the wind blew against my face in blades but I couldn’t feel any pain. It turned sharply and I screamed in delight, almost like a child being flung into the air. Odahviing had been an expert flyer but was all business; having this much control was addictive and the moment I realized it, I willed the dragon to the ground. I flung my legs off to the side and landed heavy in the snow. I leaned close to the dragon and whispered, “I’ll let you go this time but only as payment for letting me humiliate you like that.” The dragon seemed to understand and flew off, leaving us both unharmed.

            Teldryn started at me wordlessly. With the dragon now gone, discomfort had settled over the two of us.

            “I demeaned it by doing that,” I explained hoping to draw out a more comfortable topic. The sun was beginning to rise, soft blues and yellows peaked on the horizon. Thin, wispy clouds streaked across the sky and I could see the black outline of the dragon flying off in the distance. My words weren’t effective and we both stood, nothing exchanged. Teldryn finally broke the silence.

            “You still owe me for a week’s pay,” he blurted out. When I didn’t immediately reply, he added, “That wasn’t really how I imagined that going.”

            “I’d hope not.” I crossed my arms and tipped backward and forward from the balls of my feet to my heels. I grasped at a straw, “Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving. Literally.”

            He took off his helm and I could see the incredulous look on his face. “You want to know if I have snacks.” Shaking his head, he smiled. “I wish I had a sweet roll so I could eat it in front of you.” Despite his comment he dug through his pouch and found a small slice of eidar cheese. I took it and devoured it hastily, not even registering the taste. “You really are starving?”

            I shrugged, my mouth full. “I jus haven ha a chansh to eat.” I swallowed. “I’ve been busy.”

            Teldryn furrowed his brow and his mouth moved to one side in disbelief. “You look horrible. When’s the last time you slept?”

            I sat down and rummaged through my pouch, looking for any stray health potions. My back was still hurting. I found a small one and downed it in one gulp. “Probably whenever the last time I ate.” I tossed the bottle by my feet and sat down in the cold snow. “Had a run in with the Thalmor.”

            He raised his eyebrows at the mention of that. “Is that why you’re here?”

            “No,” was all I gave him before asking, “Why are _you_ here?”

            “I was passing through. I think that dragon had been tracking me back when I was at Castle Karstaag. When I finally realized that, I tried attacking it but found I wasn’t really equipped for such as task.”

            “So you ran,” I supplied.

            “For about an hour.”

            “For about an hour,” I repeated. I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s only been what… three, four days and I’ve run into you? That has to be some kind of record.”

            Teldryn sat beside me. “Solstheim isn’t large and I was out doing a job for Glover.” He picked up the bottle I had thrown and examined it. “Well, this is sufficiently uncomfortable. I don’t know about you.”

            I pretended to be looking for something in my pouch, not really paying attention to what I was digging through. I swallowed down some discomfort. “Nope, not uncomfortable in the slightest.” I pulled out an ivory comb and resigned myself to combing out the mess the wind had torn through my hair. “Glad I could be of help—that’s what I do. As the Dragonborn I mean. Help people.” I shifted. “With dragons.”

            Teldryn raised an eyebrow. “Eloquent and convincing.”

            “So what did Glover want?” I smoothed out some stray hairs and tried to divert the topic.

            “ _Funny_ you should ask that,” he drawled. “He said it was something he’d asked you to look into.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Elyrrya. What a cute name, don’t you think?”

            My hand froze and my eyes shot up to meet his. “I’m going to kill Glover and then kill you and _then_ bring you both back to life and kill you two again.” I thought for a moment. “And then feed your twice-dead corpses to the dragons.”

            Teldryn laughed easily for a moment. “You should see the look on your face right now! Priceless.” He laughed harder, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Don’t even worry about that pay. This is payment enough.” More laughter.

            I pursed my lips. While he was in the throes of laughter, I picked up some snow, packed it, and then threw it square in his face. It exploded brilliantly and I laughed. “Have some interest.”

            Teldryn took a hand and slowly wiped the snow off of his face. Some of it shook out from his mohawk. He smirked. “It doesn’t suit you. It’s too endearing, too charming. Not the name of someone who spends her days neck deep in danger.”

            “I’m not sure if you noticed but I can control dragons now. I’d be careful what you say to me,” I joked as I smiled.

             We sat like that for a moment and I felt an ease settle over me. This felt natural, satisfying. He didn’t say anything else. I didn’t offer anything more. I drew some non-descript shapes and swirls in the snow, my legs growing cold in the ice. A few more quiet moments passed before I finally said, “This,” I pointed between me and him, “it’s getting in the way of my work.”

            “This?” He mimicked my actions. “What is _this_?”

            I shot him a look and then carefully explained, “I dismissed you. Nothing’s keeping you here.”

            Teldryn smiled. “I know.”

            I tapped on the snow some more, trying to find a way out of this. “You sure aren’t acting angry.”

            “I was, probably still am,” he agreed as he moved in closer to me. “But it’s so hard to remember something like that when you’re here.”

            I shoved him away and grimaced. “Stop that.” I brought my knees to my chest, crossed my arms, and laid my head on them. “That’s what I’m talking about. You acting like that and making me feel like… _this_.”

            Teldryn simply raised his eyebrows, his mouth a thin line. “Like _what_?”

            I waved a hand violently in his direction. “Stop pretending like this is a joke. I really can’t afford to mess this up. A whole island is depending on me.”

            He countered, “I thought you didn’t care about the island.”

            I grumbled something like, “Shut it” and “Stopping Miraak means saving the island.”

            I laid back in the snow and felt it bury in my hair, the cold and ice against my scalp. The sun was now cresting over the horizon, bright streams peering through the clouds in thick beams. I yawned. “I could sleep right here.”

            “You’d freeze to death.”

            “I’m the Dragonborn—it’s implied that I can’t freeze to death,” I joked.

            Suddenly Teldryn was leaning over me, a hand on either side of my body. He smiled easily. “Alright then. You can’t.”

            I frowned. “Why do you insist on vexing me?”

            He cocked his head in mock indignation. “ _You_ kissed me.”

            I was surprised the snow didn’t melt into a pond underneath me. “What’s it going to take to make you forget that?” I asked futily. My heart pounded in my chest.

            He smiled widely. “Admit it: you like me alive. At least give me that much.” I shook my head and his grin became warmer. “No? Is that why you saved me from the big bad dragon?”

            “I should have let it eat you,” I sighed wistfully. I put my hands on his and he wrapped his fingers around mine.

            “That’s cruel,” he replied, feigning shock. “First, you almost kill me yourself and then you put me out of a job and _then_ you wish me eaten by a dragon.” He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Truly the worst kind of person.”

            I raised my eyebrows, my face serious. “The worst,” I agreed.

            “I think you should make it up to me somehow. I’ve suffered horribly. I spent a whole day with a _terrible_ hangover.”

            I squinted at him. “That doesn’t sound like something I caused.” I shifted. “Let me up. I’m cold.”

            Teldryn shook his head laughing. “I thought the Dragonborn couldn’t freeze to death?” He kept me gently pinned down. “I should let you stay there. Make you suffer.”

            “Teldryn, I’m not kidding. Let me up.” I struggled a little and he pinned me down with a little more force and leaned down close to my ear.

            “I’ll let you up,” he whispered, “but know that I will make you answer for how _horribly_ cruel you’ve been. And I won’t be gentle about it. I’ll give as good as I got.”

            My pulse quickened and I smiled wickedly. “If you intend on making me suffer, I’ll have you know that I won’t make it a pleasant experience.”

            He smiled. “Gods, I’d hope not.”

            Teldryn moved down to kiss me but I put a finger to his lips. He exhaled. “What is it _now_?”

            I smirked and grabbed a handful of snow, shoving it in his face.

            Without wiping all of it off, he leaned down and planted a cold, icy kiss on my cheek. I brushed the snow off and wrapped my hands around his neck. “Well, I did save your life. I think that merits some reward.”

            “Quite right,” he leaned down and kissed me fully, his mouth moving in slow deliberate motions. When Teldryn pulled out of the embrace, a slow and easy smiled turned his lips upward. “My hero.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting another update soon; sorry if it throws you off of your reading schedule! If you would be so kind, please be sure to comment/review chapters that I've been posting to let me know how it's going! I've also been a little less chatty about my changes but we're reaching the halfway point with RoS. It was about this time that I had a better handle on what was going on... hence why the updates are also coming along quicker! 
> 
> Special thanks to jottingprosaist (jane_potter) for leaving kudos. Thank you!
> 
> So, next update will be very soon and we'll get another Teldryn POV chapter. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	22. Teldryn Interlude VI

            I’d convinced Rook to take a few hours and sleep. The only suitable place to actually make camp though was back at the entrance of the ruins that she’d just come from.

            “We can bar the door leading into the rest of the ruins. There are a couple of bodies lying around but there are some bedrolls and a few chests. I didn’t check them so we might get lucky and find some supplies.”

            Making our way through the snow drifts, soft flurries started to come down in gentle waves. Leading the way, I could tell she was woefully ill-equipped for the snow. Her hood was up but somewhere along the way, she’d lost her cloak. Strangely, she looked a lot smaller than I’d remembered her being. Tall and lean but small. I hadn’t realized how much width her cape had given her. Without it she looked almost pathetic.

            “What are you staring at, Sero?” Rook asked gruffly, as if she had felt me staring.

            “Where’s your cloak?” I replied innocently.

            Her hand went to her shoulder and rubbed the area thoughtfully. “I haven’t been taking care of my armor. Or my weapons it seems.” Her hand went to an iron sword sheathed by her side.

            “Or yourself,” I added and she exhaled loudly. “What? Am I not allowed to be concerned now?”

            Another heavy step and part of her leg disappeared in the snow. “I’d rather you not.”

            I followed and some of my leg disappeared as well. There was another couple of minutes of silence before we reached the ruin entrance. Rook went to push the door open and I waited until the stone had completely given away before passing through it after her. She had been right about the room. The bodies in the enclosed area had started to rot and the stench filled the small area. She walked over to the door ahead of us and put the bar back into position.

            I crouched down and lifted one of the bodies over my shoulder. Once I had thrown it out into the snow, I went back inside for the other. Rook was bent over a table with a map spread out in front of her, marking something. I hoisted the other body over me and mused, “Burning the midnight oil?”

            “Yes.” Her eyes didn’t move from the map. “In the early morning.”

            I disposed of the last body and closed the door behind me, a loud groan echoing throughout the small room. Examining the spread, I noticed a cold camp fire. Checking the wood to make sure it was dry, I flipped my wrist outward and threw a flame flew into the circle. A fire began to roar and the light casted dark shadows against the walls. Rook’s face looked dark and unfamiliar as the light couldn’t penetrate the folds of her hood. The contrast must have irritated her because she lowered it back down to the base of her neck. Her eyes still didn’t wander from the map.

            “Teldryn, map please?” She held out a hand but didn’t look at me.

            I handed it to her and commented, “I thought I had convinced you to get some sleep.”

            A dismissive hand met my observation. “In a moment.” She folded the other map out beside hers. Taking a piece of charcoal she marked something. “I guess it makes sense that this place is called White Ridge Barrow, all the snow covering it.” She yawned and outstretched her arms over her head.

            Obviously, Rook wasn’t in the mood to listen to my concerns so I didn’t press them on her any harder. I checked out a chest that only contained a small amount of gold. When I looked up I noticed her staring at the wall, breathing in and out at an unsteady pace. “Everything alright?”

            She shook her head. “No.” Pointing to the map, one of her fingers tapped loudly on a spot. “I’ve got a lot of traveling to do. Just not looking forward to it.”

            I took off my helm, pulled down my kerchief, and bent over to look at the spot she was talking about. “A dock? It doesn’t seem too far away from here.”

            Her finger then moved from the dock to another place clear across the island: the Skaal Village. “That’s what I mean.”

            I shrugged. “At least you’ll have company.”

            “Oh?” she looked at me. “Who?”

            I put a hand to my forehead and I could hear an exasperated sound come from myself. I went to open my mouth but she held a hand up.

            “Don’t argue. As far as I’m concerned that job you’re running for Glover is just an extension of Guild business. That makes you an employee of mine. _Still_ , for some gods unknown reason. I don’t take a lot of things seriously but you _will not_ contribute to anything that tarnishes the reputation I’ve worked so hard to build for the Guild.”

            I couldn’t help but grin. “Ah, so I’m a member of the Thieves Guild now?”

            She snorted. “Hardly. But I know Glover wouldn’t have given that job to you for no reason. He told me about it but he didn’t have details for me. I doubt he would have just told you about it or _my name_ unless he had reason to believe he could trust you.”

            I took an index finger and pointed upward as if to emphasize the point, “I’m sure your name was an accident. With the morning he had with those Nords, I’m sure he wasn’t thinking straight.”

            She suddenly slammed her hands down on the maps in front of her and the table rattled. “ _What_ Nords? Describe them.”

            I shrugged and was quick to offer, “Stormcloaks but that’s all I know. Both of them big, burly types wearing fur. Carried their weapons like they were their children.” She shot me a look that said the answer wasn’t satisfactory. “What more do you want?”

            Rook buried her face in a hand. “No, it’s fine. Just something else I’m sure is going to cause problems for me.” She groaned loudly. “ _Ulfric_.”

            I almost asked what that meant but instead continued, “So you’re telling me get this to Glover first?”

            “First? That implies an afterwards.” She yanked her gloves off and began to unlatch her armor at the joints. Pulling her chest plate over her head, Rook motioned toward the map, “And afterwards I’m not interested in having you tag along.” She finished tugging off her boots and armor that covered her legs.

            I crossed my arms in irritation. “Tagging along makes me sounds useless.” I presented a hand, my fingers splayed. “Are you calling me useless?”

            I’d hit a nerve. Her frown softened and she _almost_ looked remorseful. “That’s not what I meant.”

            “Funny. That’s exactly what it sounds like.” I was still more than a little upset at her.

            Closing her eyes, she chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip and let out a sigh. When she brushed back her hair, I could tell that she was struggling with something. Unexpectedly, one of her hands reached out and barely covered my own gloved one. After another minute of letting her think, she admitted, “I have no good answer for that.”

            Briefly I wondered if she even had an answer, even one that would hurt my feelings. I began to suspect that she was running thoughtlessly and hadn’t even given anything beyond Miraak a consideration. She grimaced. “Alright, I’m trying here. You aren’t being helpful.”

            I smiled and stifled a laugh. “I commend you for the effort?”

            She yanked the hand away and growled, “Oh, _nevermind_.”

            I looked down at the map, fire still burning brightly and casting hard shadows and lights across the flat land.  I pursed my own lips in frustration and then realized she was probably doing the best she could. “So this Brynjolf guy? I’m guessing there’s a little more to that then you’ve let on.”

            Rook pounded another fist onto the table. “By the gods! I’m going to personally see that someone asks the Night Mother to have Glover killed. Slowly and painfully.”

            My eyes widened slightly. Glover had specifically warned me not to ask any questions about the Brotherhood. I’d spent my time in some seedy places. The Night Mother’s name was not unknown to me. But I had no idea if she thought he had told me about her time as an assassin. Better to stay cautious. “The Dark Brotherhood? My, interesting choice of curses there. Last I heard, they weren’t doing well in Skyrim.”

            Rook sneered at me. “Let’s cut straight to the quick. I don’t like games.”

            I rolled my eyes. “ _Yes_ , Glover told me about your time with them. Cautioned me to not ask about it.”

            Her face relaxed a little. “Smart man.”

            “Don’t be so suspicious. I paid him to tell me everything he knew about you.” I frowned. “You weren’t serious about setting hired killers after him, were you?”

            Letting out a sigh, she deflated. “No. Bad habit. It’s just irritating. Everyone being privy to parts of your life you’d rather just leave dead and buried. Although I shouldn’t have expected any less from someone like him.” She then casted a glance at me that I couldn’t quite decipher. Sadness? Regret? She didn’t explain but instead continued her thought, “I meant thieves. Like me. Gold is about the only incentive we have.”

            “He refused to tell me everything,” I admitted.

            Her face looked surprised. “Really? That’s…” she tapped another finger on the map in some indiscriminate place. “…promising.”

            I didn’t ask any further and waved my hands as if to clear off a slate. “Forget I said anything. It was inappropriate.” Smirking, I added, “Especially from my patron.”

            “You’re not going to give up, are you?” Rook smiled but it looked weary and tired—her eyes had dark circles around them. “Brynjolf used me. Plain and simple. And when he realized that I wasn’t in the habit of blindly following orders… well, then, I wasn’t really needed anymore after that.” Another wide, weary smile. “Worst of all, I kept him in charge while I was away. I was caught between responsibilities and wanting to avoid him. Long story short, I don’t go back to Riften unless I smell trouble.”

            I almost said something but realized she’d probably heard it all before or wouldn’t be interested in paltry words of comfort. Instead I offered, “I’ll make sure to get this to Glover. Don’t want your hard work going to waste.”

            “I appreciate that.” Another yawn and she finally conceded, “Alright, I think I’ll get some sleep now.” She strode over to a bedroll and adjusted it so that the part that usually covered someone was rolled up into a makeshift pillow. Sitting upright she motioned toward me, “Oh, and in case I forget, give Glover a message for me.”

            I sat down on the bedroll next to hers, preparing myself to keep watch for a few hours. “Anything.”

            “If he ever pulls another stunt like that again I will personally see to it he’ll never see a profit from that business he has. Ever. Again.”

            I raised my eyebrows and surprise but then grinned. “Oh, _definitely_. Anything else?”

            Rook leaned over and caught me, kissing me deeply. Her hands stayed cupped around my jawline and I allowed myself to take her in a little more, not worrying myself with why she was doing so. She pulled away slowly and then kissed me my brow. My heart skipped a beat and I stopped myself from meeting her mouth again.

            “Is that for Glover as well?” I rasped.

            “I’d _love_ to see you deliver _that_ to him.”

            I smiled at her. “I think I missed part of that. Mind showing me again?”

            Laughing, she laid down and shook her head. “You are some piece of work, Teldryn.”

* * *

 

            I was certain that Rook would have some words with me if I allowed her to sleep the day away despite the fact it looked like a whole era’s worth of sleep wouldn’t be enough at this point. I doubted there would be any trouble, so I allowed myself relax on the wall nearest Rook. Her breaths were slow and deep. Like this it almost looked as if she might be dead. Her chest barely rose and fell.

            The fire crackled in the far corner, providing a soft glow and enough warmth in the chamber that I was almost uncomfortable. Taking my armor off, I was able to gain some relief from the heat. I resisted the urge to yawn, trying to fight off sleep myself. Rook shifted, her clothes bunching up around her joints. “Gods, you are almost more trouble than you’re worth,” I joked. She replied by coughing. I frowned.

            Mindlessly I reached down and stroked her hair, my fingers weaving in and out of the wild, dark strands. Her sharp features almost seemed relaxed but her mouth was still tense. Although still a little damp from lying in the snow for so long, her hair was no longer cold. I sighed and kept my fingers running through to her scalp, unknotting strands here and there. It was almost relaxing, carelessly working my way to the ends of her hair. Then I ran the back of my hand down her cheek. I felt a little guilty touching her without her awake but realized she probably wouldn’t be upset at the action, considering how she felt about the time I kissed her on the cheek. I ran one finger down the jagged and thick scar tissue that ran across her left eye. Whoever had sliced her here hadn’t been skilled; there was no damage to the eye itself. I longed to see the scars on her chest in full. I’d only had glances of them as they started at her right shoulder and disappeared into her clothes—the thought of seeing her bare made my blood run hot. I stopped what I was doing when she rolled over, obviously having trouble finding quality sleep. I frowned. Whatever good judgement I had about getting involved with her was long gone.

            I yawned against my own volition, my eyelids heavy. The warmth was lulling me into a deep fatigue. I almost couldn’t help crossing my arms and leaning against the wall, getting too comfortable. Rook shifted again, some undistinguishable mumbling followed. Stretching out my legs, I felt my foot catch the end of the bedroll Rook was using and felt her shift again but this time kicking my leg. Suddenly I heard her mumble, “Teldryn, stop moving around. It’s distracting.”

            I felt a lazy grin cross my face. “Sorry.” She looked like she had fallen back asleep. I yawned again and I closed my eyes for just a second.

* * *

 

            I woke up with a start and realized that I had fallen asleep. For how long I couldn’t guess. Rook was gone but over the fire was a makeshift spit with some type of bird roasting away. Another half of a bird had been eaten but still skewered through. I stood up and looked at the empty bedroll. I briefly wondered if she was outside still, scouting around. I took a piece of the bird off the spit and found a wooden plate to place it on. As I sat at the table I noticed a map folded up with a letter inside. I grabbed both and I found that it was a letter from Rook. Her handwriting was fairly precise; more evidence of that fine College education that she was putting to good use running around Morrowind. Reading it I almost felt a twinge of annoyance.

_Teldryn, tell Glover I need a new set of armor._

And that was it. Just an addition to what I needed to tell him. I tore hungrily into one of the legs of the bird and chewed thoughtfully. I looked down at the picked-clean bones and my annoyance washed away. She trusted me to get the formula to Glover and I needed to respect that. The food was a way of showing me she cared enough to hunt for the both of us. I glanced back down at the note, smiled. Not even a ‘please’ in there.

* * *

 

            Glover looked at the formula I’d handed him and nodded. “Here.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out two keys.

            “What’s this?”

            “This one,” he held up a plain looking key, “is to my house.” I looked at him strangely. “This isn’t an invitation for a sleepover. I don’t want you in my bed.”

            “If I wanted to bed you, I wouldn’t have been subtle about it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Funny.” He held up the second key. “And this is to my basement. You’re welcome to anything you find down there. As payment.”

            “Well, then,” I took both. “That’ll do.”

            “It should,” Glover laughed and went to turn back to his work.

            “Two things. From the Guildmaster. One, she asked for new armor. Nothing more to that message.” I handed him the note she’d written me. He nodded and I assumed he knew what she needed. “Second, I’m not sure she was pleased about what our exchange.”

            “I’d be more concerned if she _wasn’t_ upset at me. She’ll get over it,” he laughed it off.

            “Let’s hope.”

            Glover shook his head, suppressing a chuckle. “If she was _that_ angry, she’d have come back to Raven Rock and told me herself.”

I let him get back to his work while I went inside his house, curious at what his basement held. The staircase leading to the basement was directly in front of the door to his house, a steep spiral that led into a dank, cobweb-filled room. I took the basement key and opened the door, revealing a richly decorated room. I shut the door behind me.

            Banners hung on a far wall, faded black and grey with a circle enclosed by a diamond on the ends. There were shelves lined with expensive potions, sweet rolls, and something called Black-Briar Reserve. In a display case held some armor I didn’t recognize. Another shelf was lined with lockpicks. There were boring, old-looking barrels filled to the brim with gems and money. Another shelf held numerous coin purses, some more potions. On the wall with the banners a shield and sword decorated some empty space. The sword looked exactly like the one Rook had snapped in half. Beside a strongbox filled with more gems and money, I found a set of papers addressed to Glover’s daughter. None of it made any sense so I put it back and made a note to myself to bring Rook down here at some point, not to share any of the wealth but to ask her more questions. I grabbed a sweet roll and took a big, satisfying bite. The sugar rushed through my blood. It was possible that I was hungrier than I’d thought. I opened a bottle of the Black-Briar Reserve and took a swig, enjoying the honeyed undertones. I took another bite of the sweet roll and wondered when I would see Rook again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter today! In all honesty, I'm hoping to post as much as possible before the semester begins in January. I'm going to be very, very busy and won't be able to update as often as I'd like. RoS is done so the more chapters I can edit through, the better! Happy holidays!
> 
> Thanks for reading! -Ash


	23. Catharsis

            Teldryn was sound asleep. I almost felt a little guilty about leaving him without waking him but I doubted he would be thrilled to discover my need to read Black Books to keep my head on straight. I did take the time to go out and hunt for a couple of small birds that were flying around. When I snuck back in Teldryn was still asleep. I almost couldn’t believe that he was _that_ tired but then again he had been running from a dragon for a while before I found him early this morning. I set up a make-shift spit after hastily defeathering the birds, quickly scrawled out a note, and debated on how I should bid goodbye. I settled on nothing and left with him none the wiser.

            I had a long way ahead of me and I was too tired to even think straight. Before I left the barrow, I scrambled back up the craggy cliffs to retrieve my worn cape. I felt too exposed without it on. But wearing it made me feel less intimidating and more like I was some scraggly bandit roaming the wilds. Worse yet, it did a poor job at keeping me warm now what with all the holes and tears. So, I settled on huddling inside my hood and behind my mask. My hands wrapped tightly against my arms, desperately rubbing them to gain some warmth.

            I traveled further north, the sun reflecting off the white snow and the wind mild. The mountains on Solstheim seemed to build up and then roll back down as quickly as they came; nothing like Skyrim with its thick wall of mountains that seemed like they reached straight into the sky. There was a path that led through the crags and cliffs but I was able to navigate them easily. I had enough training traipsing through mountains on the mainland.

            I tread carefully, taking care with each step. My thoughts had wandered to Glover and his loose tongue around Teldryn. I almost didn’t mind that Teldryn knew about my time with the Brotherhood, just so long as he didn’t ask me about it. But it was embarrassing having Teldryn asking me about Brynjolf. Especially since he had made it perfectly clear that he was becoming increasingly interested in me beyond where we currently were. Wherever that was. I couldn’t blame him for not understanding because I couldn’t quite pin down my own feelings. That was embarrassing as well. The topic of Brynjolf was mortifying. The fact I couldn’t master a dragon thu’um in one go was humiliating. I was just making a fool of myself at every turn. It didn’t help that I was more than willing to indulge Teldryn.

            It was hopeless. My armor was a mess. I was a mess. The very last thing I wanted was to have someone doting on me at every turn, wondering if I had eaten or slept or healed myself after a fight. I wasn’t sure why I even thought hiring Teldryn had been a good idea. My usual preference was to travel alone, although I had to admit that was only in the past year or so. I got tired of having people die around me. I became jaded by all the people who had either used me or backstabbed me. After a while, being around people just got to be too much trouble. And now Teldryn was becoming less and less troublesome and more and more someone who simply asked too many troublesome questions. A major distinction in my mind.

            I heard the sounds of water gently swishing up on a shore line. I thought I could also hear a murmur of voices. As my foot stepped into a mix of mud and snow, I noticed a few Thalmor soldiers wandering around. Feeling arrogant, I swaggered through the lot of them with my pathetic sword at my side. A few of them unsheathed swords and shouted at me, but most just let me walk right up to the docks and board the ship where an Altmer in Thalmor robes stood. His hands behind his back and looking out at the sea, he didn’t even bother looking back at me. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

            I crossed my arms. “I’m just here about the stalhrim map.”

            He turned around and visibly looked me up and down. “My, aren’t we… quaint?”

            “Ancarion, right?”

            “None other,” he spread his hands out toward me. “I suspect you know my purpose here then. What did you do? Find that dullard of a blacksmith? Well, the Skaal may have their secrets but I have mine. My mission here is not for you to know and I will silence you if necessary.” Ancarion sneered at me. “Give me a reason not to.”

            I was usually willing to immediately kill any Thalmor I saw but this felt a little too beneath my efforts. No point in wasting my energy over a silly map. “Leave this island now or forfeit your life,” I answered cooly.

            One of his nostrils flared at me before turning back to look at the sea. After a few moments he answered, “I can see that is no idle threat. Very well,” he flicked a wrist in my direction. “We will depart the island once we have loaded the ship. No weapon is worth dying for, not even a weapon forged from stalhrim.” He motioned for a few of his soldiers to return to the ship. Then he reached into his robe. “Here, give this map to the blacksmith, I have no further need for it.”

            I snatched it from him and opened it up suspiciously. It looked legitimate. “The next time I return to this dock, there had better not be a _whiff_ of Thalmor.”

            Ancarion looked at me. “Fine, _fine._ But don’t think I don’t know who you are. The Thalmor have dossiers on everyone they deem… important.”

            I stepped off the boat and shoved a soldier out of my way. She grumbled but I paid no mind to it until she said something like, “Filthy Man,” and I snapped. All my anger and stress were brought out into the light and as fast as lightning I unsheathed my sword and sliced her throat. The next thing I knew the rest of the soldiers were piling on top of me and I was wildly swinging my sword and throwing lighting at anyone who came near me. I wasn’t successful in blocking any of the swings and blows. To be honest, I wasn’t trying to. Some of the swords were blocked by my armor but most were gouging through. I could feel parts of my arms being ripped to shreds. Someone stabbed me through my shoulder. A hilt found my head and knocked me backwards. I reeled back and loosed a blizzard around me, the cold congealing the blood on my skin. Most of them were now lying dead on the ground but Ancarion was looking at me curiously.

            “I thought we were going to be able to settle this amicably.” Before he could say anything else I rushed toward him and lunged at his throat with my sword. I swung wide and pushed his body off the boat. There was the sound of struggling for a few moments but then he succumbed to the waters. His lifeless body floated up, face down with a pool of blood spreading around him in the clear water. Each breath struggled past my lips. My hands shook. My head spun.

            This was absolute madness. I had lost complete control over myself. My arms burned. I could barely move my shoulder. The gentle sway of the boat was enough to knock me back and I fell on a seat. I ripped off my hood, my mask. Looking out at the water I _almost_ gave into my desire to leave Solstheim. Just commandeer the boat that now had no owners and set sail. Destination be damned. The war hadn’t been over for even two months when I was pulled here. Now? I didn’t even know what I should do. Miraak _might_ be defeated—although I was becoming increasingly aware I was wholly inadequate—but I was still going mad. Neloth was right. Using the books over and over again to journey into Apocrypha alleviated some of the problem but I could already tell I was going to need more and more time in Apocrypha until eventually I never came back to Nirn at all.

            I would become a ghost. A shell. Nothing.

            “It’s not fair!” I screamed at the water and hurled my sword at it. The iron swung hard and fast, landing with a terrific splash about fifty feet away from me. I yelled out into the sky, “I did what you asked me to do! I saved all of GODS DAMNED SKYRIM!” I stood up and began throwing crates overboard. “Which one of you gods or princes or divines wants me now?” I hurled another box over and Ancarion’s body floated wildy. “That’s all I’ve ever been: a bit piece in this game! Even you Hermaeus Mora! Are you listening from Oblivion? I know why you want me here.” I dropped to my knees and did something I hadn’t done in years.

            I cried and I cried and I cried. And I felt so pathetic. I felt weak and I felt hopeless because for all the power I held I was so damn _powerless_.

            “Are any of you listening?” I whispered to the princes, the divines, the gods. “I get it. You use me as you see fit and I get no say in anything.”

            Only the waters were listening. They didn’t answer.

            I screamed back at Hermaeus, “Yes, I _know_! You just need me to weaken Miraak.” I wiped hot tears from my face and they only stung at the cuts in my hands. I hadn’t even bothered throwing a healing spell over myself. I had no potions. “And I get it. Just… I have to have _something_. You can’t take it all away.”

            And again, only the waters sloshed. The wind gently whistled. Ancarion’s body banged against the boat. A few of the crates were floating.

            I laid there for what seemed like hours, my mind afloat.

            This was taking a turn for the disturbing. I couldn’t even will myself to stand up.

            I inhaled.

            “ _Su'um ahrk morah… su'um ahrk morah…_ ”

I exhaled.

            I looked down at my gloves, my arms, my legs. My armor was now ripped to shreds. Something inside me broke. I yanked off my gloves and threw them into the water. My hands looked horrible. I threw a grand healing spell over myself, using every last bit of my energy to do so. I walked over to the only crate I hadn’t thrown overboard and threw the lid open. I laughed at the irony of the only armor inside.

            I ripped off my chest plate, my gauntlets. I jerked at my boots and tossed everything into the now calm waters. Twilight filled the sky now. Some stars were peaking over the horizon and twinkling. I tore off my shirt, my pants and I was left standing in my smallclothes on the boat underneath the darkening sky. I took those off with a little more care and left them on the ship. I sat at the edge of the ship and jumped in the water. The iciness hit me and warmth immediately took over me. Not a good sign. Too cold, too fast and my body was struggling against it. My skin broke out into gooseflesh, my nipples painfully hardened, and my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. I ducked my head under the water and submerged myself again.

            As cold as it was, it was also refreshing. I popped out of the water and gasped for air but the very same air I gasped for chilled me to the bone. I was eventually satisfied with the dip and climbed back onto the boat inelegantly, albeit effectively. I dried myself best that I could with some rough cloth I'd found laying the boat, probably someone's blanket for the trip north. The armor in the chest had its own set of shirts and pants. After I put my smalls back on I proceeded to shrug into the mottled, darkly colored shirt and pants. I latched the plates that my new boots were attached to and strapped a pair of bracers on each wrist. The shirt was a ragged, faded red but I yanked that over my head and then went to latching the cuirass around my waist. The thick plates were horribly constricting and a piece bit into my left breast painfully. I tugged at it and hoped it would subside. I wound a dark kerchief around my neck and lower part of my face and then lowered the helm onto my head. There was also a glass sword in the chest, which I promptly hitched to my belt.

            I looked back out at the dark sea and surveyed the dead around me. This needed to stop. I had to defeat Miraak, no question. I had to snap out of this place I’d put myself in. I still needed to give the map to the Skaal blacksmith but first I had another stop.

            “Time to go back to Raven Rock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. These short chapters will be ending soon. Also, other things will happen.
> 
> Thanks for reading! -Ash


	24. Teldryn Interlude VII

            It was far too early in the morning to be awake but my mind refused to settle. Geldis asked me how I’d slept.

            “I didn’t,” I answered while sliding him a gold coin in exchange for some hard bread and sujamma. He handed me the bread on a plate and a bottle. I heartily downed the bread and washed it down with swigs of alcohol in between each bite. It had been two days since I’d last seen Rook; she was probably to the Skaal Village by now.

            “You were gone for a few days. Happen to run into our lady out there?” Geldis asked politely.

            “Don’t.” I warned. He shot me a look and I conceded. “She’s about on the island.”          

            “About, eh?” Geldis mused. “She must get about often, haven’t see her in Raven Rock this past fortnight.”

            I shrugged. The last couple of days had been blessedly quiet. The only real change around town was the presence of the Nords who had been asking around about Rook and her whereabouts. Someone had directed them to me, mentioning that she had hired me. It had not been the most polite of conversations.

            “You, grey-skin,” the bigger one had called out to me while in the middle of town. I kept walking, ignoring them. “Hey, you!”

            I had stopped. “I have a name.” The smaller of the two snorted as if I had told a good joke.

            “Whispers about town say that you were travelling with a women.”

            “If by traveled you mean she _hired_ me, then yes.” I suppressed the urge to offer them a rude gesture that they wouldn’t need Dunmeris to understand.

            “Cute. The elf thinks himself a mercenary,” the big one ribbed the smaller one and they both started laughing wildly.         

            I didn’t say anything.

            “Where is she then?”

            I didn’t even offer them a shrug as I said, “I don’t know.”

            I thought the smaller one was going to slit my throat. “You _don’t_ know or you _won’t_ tell us?”

            “Both,” I offered. “If it pleases you.” And with that I kept on walking.

            Now, both of them sat huddled in a corner of The Retching Netch whispering in low, hushed tones. I motioned toward them to Geldis, “Are you asking me about her because they asked you to?”

            Geldis fumbled with a glass. “Teldryn, they’re scaring off all my customers. They come in here, drink all night and drink all day. They’re bidding their time and I’m losing money. They might be waiting for your patron to come back but in the meantime they ain’t doing me any favors.”

            I didn’t even bother correcting him, “If you’re asking me to do something about it, the answer is a solid no.” I looked over my shoulder, “I’m skilled but those two look like they’d take any excuse to bash my grey head in. _N’wah swits_.”

            Geldis’s eyes drew back, wide. Obviously, my description hadn’t helped to assuage his fears. I let the subject drop. Just as I took another sip of sujamma, the door upstairs slammed. From above we heard, “Master Geldis! Master Geldis!”

            Geldis groaned. “What in _blazes_ does that boy want now?”

            Drovas practically jumped over the steps trying to reach the bottom floor. He ran into the bar, nearly spilling my drink. I grabbed it just in time. He was bent over and breathing hard. “Master… _Geldis_.”

            “Out with it, boy! Azura knows you’d get excited over a rock.”

            “Morag… Tong,” he heaved out. Geldis took a step back and I dropped out of my seat, sword unsheathed.

            “ _Where_? Where’d you see the assassins?” I asked quickly. The Nords had picked up that something was wrong. They slid out of their seats and both of them had a hand steadied by their weapons. The Morag Tong had taken a liking to hunt down Rook and, by extension, myself. I thought it was because we’d killed a number of them back in Ashfallow Citadel. Each time she killed one, she would grab a note off of their bodies and chuckle at some joke she never let me in on. It occurred to me that being the leader of the Dark Brotherhood had made her a target. However, an assassin in the middle of town in broad daylight was unheard of.

            “What does the Morag Tong want with Raven Rock?” Geldis asked, almost level.

            At that I shrugged. My hand relaxed against the hilt of my sword. No way of knowing if there was immediate danger. Besides, the Nords were ready to battle someone. I wasn’t going to be the one to stop them if they wanted to kill an assassin—especially if it was after me. Drovas jumped as soon as the door above slammed shut.

            “ _Oh_ , sweet Azura,” he whispered.

            At the top of the stairs and making her way down was the Morag Tong assassin. Drovas scurried into one of the unoccupied rooms and Geldis dropped whatever he had been holding. The object echoed out a loud din through the almost empty bar. Her steps were heavy and the plates of her armor were clanking together loudly. I knew Rook complained at how loud I was at times but I had never experienced it for myself. The Nords drew their weapons, pulled back and ready for a fight. The assassin seemed unruffled. Calmly, she made her way to the bar and took a seat by me. The thick glass of her goggles met mine and my heart stopped when she nodded at me to sit. Cautiously, I sheathed my weapon and took my seat.

            Geldis smiled nervously. “W-welcome to The R-retching N-n-netch, m’lady. What can I get for you?” I watched him swallow down his fear.

            I couldn’t say that I didn’t feel the same. This was out of the ordinary, unexpected. The only thing that ever came out of the unexpected was something bad.

            Finally, a familiar voice replied, “I thought I told you to drop the pleasantries.’”

            Geldis and I looked at one another, suddenly realizing that this wasn’t an assassin. It was Rook. Geldis burst out into nervous laughter.

            “Ha! Ha, ha, ha! Of course, yes, my apologies!” Geldis tittered on.

            I looked at her. “I can’t say I don’t approve of the chitin but running around dressed as the Morag Tong?”

            I was so used to seeing her with no expression whatsoever beneath her mask that watching her smile under the dark kerchief was almost welcomed. “Have you seen the effect it’s had on everyone? You really can’t put a price on the kind of fear I have wrapped around me right now.”

            Geldis came out with a jar of sujamma and nervously laughed again. “You would not _believe_ how relieved I am right now.”

            Rook leaned over and whispered close to my ear, “I probably shouldn’t tell him I’m actually with the Brotherhood.”

            I leaned close and replied, “Probably not.” I couldn’t help myself from grinning.

            The Nords came behind either side of her and slammed their weapons down in front of where she was sitting. The bigger of the two boomed, “ _You._ ”

            She stared at the sharp weapons in front of her, firelight glinting off of their edges. “ _Me.”_

            I looked back at the two Nords, neither of them with happy looks on their faces. Rook coolly pulled down her kerchief and took a sip of sujamma. Wordlessly, she turned around and rested her elbows on the bar counter. “Galmar. Yrsarald.”

            The one she’d called Galmar boomed again, “King Ulfric requests your presence at the Palace of the Kings.”

            She pulled down the kerchief all the way now and took the helm off. Tossing back her hair, she smiled. “What? Did Ulfric reduce you two to couriers?” She considered the two of them. “I must say, you’re a bit overdressed for the part.”

            Silently, Geldis continued to wipe out flagons, pretending not to be listening to the conversation. I tried not to look over. She sounded better, that much was certain. I was almost in awe of how she casually threw their authority back into their faces; however, I was also concerned because they had their weapons drawn. This wasn’t social visit.

            “Look at you, still causing problems no matter where you go,” Yrsarald observed.

            “ _Me_? I’m not the one with an axe in a lady’s face.” Rook was acting as if this was business as usual.

            Galmar balked. “Our politeness only extends so far. Ulfric will only _request_ you to come only so many times before we shall be forced to drag you back.”

            “ _Drag_ me back? I’d _love_ to see you try.” Rook squinted and pounded her fist against Galmar, smiling. “ _Jarl_ Ulfric can take his request and shove it up his arse.”

I stopped breathing for a second, fearing she might have just provoked an attack.

            Instead Galmar ran his palm down his face and exhaled. “ _Why_ must you be so difficult? You’ve served under Ulfric.” Rook cringed. “You pledged an oath.” Her face contorted into a strange shape. “You helped him win the war for Skyrim.”

            Calmly, she turned back around, a leg swinging on the barstool. “I’m busy at the moment. Maybe sometime later.” She waved a hand at them dismissively.

            Yrsarald pounded his axe handle on the counter. “ _No_ , you come with us _now._ ”

            The look on her face was pure annoyance. “Teldryn?”

            Everyone’s eyes suddenly moved to me. I was almost afraid to respond. “Yes?”

            “Please be so kind and remove your helm.” She wasn’t smiling. If there was ever a moment I wanted my helm to stay _on_ this was it. I almost asked why but thought better of it. Instead I pulled down my kerchief and pulled my helm off, carding my fingers through my hair to adjust it.

            “Galmar?” She nodded to the large one. “Yrsarald?” The smaller of the two looked suspiciously at me.

            I had yet to see such a wide and conspiratorial smile creep upon one’s face so slowly but Rook hand managed to pull it off. One moment she was looking at them and the next she met my lips in a hard kiss. I heard gasps around me but all I felt was her hand against my jaw and her mouth moving at a steady rhythm against my own. I got the message and stood up, pulling her slightly back, both of my hands against the small of her back. I pulled away to breathe. She didn’t look at me but at the Nords who seemed ready to kill her.

            “See? Busy,” she threw back. “Now, be gone, before I decide to shout you two to pieces.”

            I didn’t let her go. My heart raced.

            “Argh!” the larger one threw up his hands, weapon gripped hard in one of them. “ _Fine_. Be obstinate. But know that we _will_ come back if you don’t return willingly. You can’t run away forever.”

            “Watch me,” was all she offered before they left. No fight. No arguments. It was strange.

            I must have been momentarily taken over by a mad passion because I pulled her back into another kiss. I heard angry footsteps and a door slam. I continued to kiss her, my hands dropping to her hips and pulling her forward. Rook didn’t seem to mind—she wrapped her arms tighter around my shoulders. After a couple of seconds, I heard Geldis clear his throat. We pulled away, both of us were grinning like idiots.

            “Well,” was all he got out.

            “Well,” I repeated, staring at Rook.

            A few moments of silence followed and Geldis cleared his throat again. “Well, if you two plan on staying _busy,_ how about you continue in a room?”

* * *

 

            “Explain that part again,” I asked. “Slowly.”

            “Ulfric has intentions of marrying me.” Rook busied herself at the alchemy table in her house. When we left The Retching Netch, she said, “Let Geldis think what he will.”

            I replied, “I’m wondering if we shouldn’t have taken him up on his offer for a room.” She didn’t even bother chiding me for that comment.

            But now we were alone and not in a bedroom. Instead I was watching her mash luna moth wings into dust. This was unbearable. “How on Nirn is it that you’re engaged to someone you abhor?  Also, and I hate to be crass, but does that mean all my shameless flirting has been for nothing?”

            Rook added in something from a bowl and pounded hard. “It has been _pretty_ shameless,” she agreed. “And I’m not engaged. Engagement tends to mean consent on the parts of both parties. Ulfric wants to dress me up and keep me locked away and drag me out when he sees fit.” She pounded even harder, grinding what looked like a thick root. “Although, this is the first time he’s almost had me forcibly dragged back to Windhelm.” Rook brought down the pestle hard. “Wonder what that was about.”

            I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorway. Gods, was I going to have to strip down in order for her to get the hint? More than likely, she was ignoring me on purpose. “What a horrible man.”

            Rook glanced my way, “How do you wear this stuff? It’s not comfortable at all. It pinches and cuts into the most inconvenient of places. And it’s so damned _loud_. I can’t wait until Glover gets in touch with Delvin; maybe he can convince Brynjolf to send me more armor.” She poured something from the mortar to a bottle. “He knows my measurements,” she added, meeting my eyes and adding a small smirk before focusing back on the potion being made.

            Damn. Me. She _was_ doing this on purpose. I wasn’t sure if I was more impressed with the way I was keeping a straight face or my ability to stop my blood from rushing below my belt. Oh, but I _liked_ this game we were playing. I’d make sure she’d lose.

I unsheathed my sword and began to polish it with my cleaning cloth. Without looking back up at her, I asked, “Didn’t know you had a thing for tailors.”

She piled ingredients into the mortar. “Tailors are usually interested in putting clothes _on_ people.” She flashed me a wicked grin.

            I arched an eyebrow at her but went back to examining my sword, turning the blade back and forth. “I suppose that’s true.”

            I heard her huff at me and I forced the corners of my mouth not to quirk upward.

            She grumbled and tugged at a piece of the armor. “Damn chitin.”

            _Then_ I grinned widely at her. “If it’s so uncomfortable, you should just take it _off_.”

            Rook cocked a mischievous smile at me. “ _Off_? What are you implying, Sero?”

            “The most logical course of action.” I shrugged. “Or keep being uncomfortable. What do I care?”

            She looked ready to kill me.

            This was too much fun.

            I loved it.

            I sheathed my sword and moved behind her, my hands on her shoulders. She eyed me, her mouth in a straight line.

            “Something you want?” she asked.

            “Seeing what you’re up to that’s got you so flustered,” I answered close to her ear. “Or is it just that _pesky_ armor?”

            Her hands stopped what they were doing but she didn’t meet my eyes. “You’re _insufferable_ , you know that?”

            “Mmhmm. Perhaps.”

            She turned around and I dropped my hands to the table, trapping her between my arms.

            “So, _sera_.” Rook cocked an eyebrow at me. “What’s this about? Not that I’m not interested.”

Grinning at her bad Dunmeris, I was willing to call this one a draw if it meant getting what I wanted: her. I grabbed one of her bare hands and brought it to my lips.  As I kissed each of her fingertips, I asked, “Am I supposed to enumerate every reason, _m’sera_? Right now?” I moved to her palm and rubbed the pad of a thumb across it. “You’re usually irritatingly silent when I don’t want you to be. Now that I want your full attention, you want to chat.”

            She frowned and pulled away. “I’m serious.”

            I sighed and tried to ignore how uncomfortable the armor below my belt had become. “ _Fine_. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. I didn’t know you would be coming back here so soon. It is possible that I _missed_ you, you know.”

            Her frowned softened. “I suppose I _did_ come back to Raven Rock to see you.”

            I raised an eyebrow. That was certainly news to me. “Did you now?”

            She didn’t answer me but stood on tip-toes to kiss my cheek. “Gods, how are you so damned patient?”

            I wrapped my hands around her hips, beckoning her closer. “I’ve found that patience usually yields some astounding results.” I bent down to kiss the top of her head, my face buried in her hair. “Besides, you’re wealthy. Powerful.”

            Rook smiled at that. “Always have your priorities straight.”

            I clicked my tongue at her, chiding her. “If I didn’t, I’d never eat. Or have such fine armor.”

            “Your _fine_ armor is horrible. I look like a mudcrab,” she complained and began to unlatch her bracers.

            “Never known a mudcrab to take out a dragon. Don’t think anyone would confuse you for one.” I grabbed her hand again and brushed my lips against her knuckles. She yanked it back.  

“I need that right now or haven’t you been paying attention? My hands are the only things allowing me to get out of this _horrible_ armor.”         

            I followed her lead and began to unhook the straps keeping my cuirass on. “Any other time I would _love_ to tell you why you’re wrong, but now…” my head moved downward to meet her lips with mine. She reciprocated the action, more than willing to meet my steady rhythm. I bit her lip and she moaned. I pulled back, breathless.

            She offered, “Your mouth tired already?” I could have drunk from the look on her face—a threat of dangerous levels of intoxication.

            “I’ll show you how much work my mouth can do.” I pulled off my gloves and awkwardly reached down to yank off my boots. “ _Elyrrya.”_

            “I thought you didn’t think that was a suitable name for me?” she asked cheekily.

            I groaned. “Blessed Tribunal, you are _so_ hard to please.”

            Rook gave me a glowing smile, “I doubt your mouth can keep up with me.”

            I cocked an arrogant smirk. “Alright then.”

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at all of these updates. A sea of them.
> 
> In all honesty, this chapter was one of the major reasons I took down the old stuff on ffnet. I had a plot line started in this chapter that...uh... looked awkward in retrospect. Like, really bad. Embarrassingly bad. As well as some changes I'll be making to Leading the Blind.
> 
> Whew! Some ending though, right? I wonder what the next chapter will hold? I bet it'll be prefaced with an A/N at the beginning warning people HERE BE SEXUALLY EXPLICIT CONTENT. *sweats nervously* Naaaaaaah. Spoiler alert: Rook and Teldryn will be interrupted by Drovas when a dragon attacks Raven Rock. Action packed next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to the lovely guests who've been kind enough to leave kudos with all of these speedy updates! If you have a moment, please drop a comment on the chapters I'm zooming through. I love hearing from you guys! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	25. Relent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning: this chapter is mature, contains explicit sexual content

One would have thought that I would have learned never to challenge Teldryn. Any other time I had, he made it a point to win. This time was no different.

            He pulled me in for a hard kiss, his hands urging my hips toward his. As his tongue moved slow circles against my own, I felt his hands smoothing up my back and working to undo the latches of my cuirass. Without breaking away, I moved my arms behind me and tried to pry him off of the leather and chitin, trying to maintain control. For all my own strength, Teldryn’s battle-honed arms overpowered my grasp and I eventually gave up. My hands relaxed against his forearms. A few short seconds later, he was moving his mouth down to outline my jaw. Carelessly, he slipped the cuirass from my torso and tossed it on the floor, an empty thud ringing out through the room. He settled onto my neck, lazily kissing and gently nipping at my skin.

            “Watch the new armor,” I struggled to keep my voice even. I buried my face into the crook of his own neck, half a breath away from telling him to take the rest of my clothes off. “That’s the only set I have now.”

            I heard him mumble against my skin, “Your armor be damned.” Teldryn’s arms wrapped themselves around me and he lifted me a short distance from the ground. My backside hit the alchemy table and something dull jabbed me.     

            “Ouch,” I complained flatly. “Watch where you’re throwing me around. I don’t need an alembic up my arse.” Despite my displeasure I slid my arms around him tight and encouraged him to keep dotting the crook of my neck with light pecks.          

He broke away for the briefest of moments. “Would you rather I moved you to the enchanting table?” He joked as his head cocked behind him.

            “I’d rather you not injure me in the process of bedding me,” I corrected.

            He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Is _that_ what I’m doing?”

            I was feeling more facetious than usual. “Poorly.”

             Teldryn brought me back in for a kiss and one of his hands creeped along my ribs under my shirt and to a breast, grazing the pad of his thumb against my nipple. As it hardened against my own volition, I felt my head tilt back and I softly moaned. Teldryn whispered against my lips, “ _That’s_ more like it.”

            I could feel a hard ache begin to shoot through my core, exacerbated by Teldryn softly groaning against my skin. The wetness that was pooling hotly between my legs was becoming a painful reminder that I wasn’t _not_ enjoying myself. All I had left on of my armor was all below my waist. It was doing wonders for increasing my misery. I hooked my own hands under his shirt and was able to break our contact momentarily.

            “You’d think that maybe you were trying to give me a hint,” Teldryn noted with no trace of unevenness in his voice; the low timbre was as steady and craggy as ever. His smile was too easy to be anything but condescending.

Running my hands down his lean, toned chest I frowned, “Now who’s being difficult?”

“Difficult?” he crossed his arms and laughed.

 Hopping down from the alchemy table, I pulled my own shirt over my head. I reached back to untie my smalls from my breasts when Teldryn pulled my arms to my side.

“Yes,” I tried pulling away but was unsuccessful. “ _Difficult._ The opposite of easy.”

Smugly, his smile turned wicked. “And when have you ever been _easy?_ ”

“I’m almost down to my smalls and practically throwing myself at you.” I struggled to move my arms but he kept them in place.

He leaned down close to my ear, his breath hot against my cheek and his voice low and smooth. “Just making good on my promise, remember?” His hands deftly slipped behind my back and his fingers expertly untangled the knot that held my smalls in place. The fabric fell to the floor and I kicked them away.

Surprisingly, he stopped to stare at the scars that ran ragged from my right shoulder across my chest and ran fully across my left breast. The mar on my flesh puckered the skin unattractively, the tissue a brilliant white. At first, I thought he found them hideous and I readied myself to kick him away. But then, he began to gingerly trace them with one finger. I slightly flinched at the sensation.

“ _Damn me_ ,” he whispered to himself. “Does it hurt when I do this?”

I shook my head. “They’re years old. Just a bit more sensitive but nothing painful. You going to stop staring at some point?”

He offered me a smug look. “Maybe scars drive me a bit wild.”

“You sure aren’t _acting_ like it.”

He scoffed. “You let me know if it starts to hurt.” Teldryn bent down to eagerly take a breast into his mouth, his other hand working to pinch the opposite nipple. I cried out but didn’t jerk away.

He lapped on the hardened peak a few times before finally explaining, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how cruel you’ve been to me.” My breathing turned ragged and my skin was flush. “Or _have_ you?” He took both hands and gingerly plucked each nipple. My involuntary cry elicited another cocky smile from him. For the briefest of moments, I had the thought that, perhaps, this was a mistake. That if I crossed this line with Teldryn, things would be difficult from now on. But then I reasoned that we liked each other and just wanted someone to go to bed with. Oblivion knows the last time I’d done so. We didn’t love one another. We didn’t want to marry one another. No harm in it.

Gods, I was good at lying. I had to hope that I wasn’t so proficient that I was fooling myself with such thoughts. I wanted to bed him. That was all. Nothing more to it.

I reached down to yank off the plates at my legs and hips, feeling Teldryn’s eyes watch me as I did so. I reminded him, “I recall assuring you that I wouldn’t make it pleasant for you.”

“Oh, _definitely_ ,” he drawled. “I wouldn’t exactly call having armor on below my waist at this moment _pleasant_.”

Now down to only a thin piece of cloth between him and my painfully throbbing bundle of tissue and slick folds, he slowly curled his hands around my hips and hooked an index finger inside the fabric. Deliberately, Teldryn slid the smalls from my hips and allowed them to drop unceremoniously to the ground. He smiled as he spied the pool of wetness hidden within them.

“Although I would hope that you’re suffering _far_ worse now. If not, I’m more than willing to make sure you do.” He pulled me closer, now completely exposed. “No matter how long it takes.”

I leaned my face close to his lips. “I refuse to beg.”

Weaving his fingers in my hair, Teldryn kissed my brow and ran his other hand between my breasts and down between my legs, dropping tantalizingly close to the source of my wetness. “You might refuse to—” He slid a single finger into the soft, wet folds and my breath hitched. I pulled closer to him. “—but you will.” Expertly, he dragged the callous finger further down but refused to delve inside. Instead he kept his motions close to the source of my misery, a tight knot of flesh that refused to bow to my demands.

I buried my face in his chest, my breathing desperate against his skin. Teldryn’s slow rhythm was causing me to lose my resolve, my hands inching underneath his arms and wrapping around his well-defined back. My fingers arched and I could feel my nails dig into his flesh. I heard his own breathing grow ragged. I reached up to meet his mouth and he took me all too willingly. Suddenly he stopped and I could feel his body tense before suddenly crouching and then hauling me over his shoulders by the hips.

“Teldryn!” I shrieked.

He didn’t move but did take the opportunity to sharply smack my exposed backside. “You want down?”

“Depends on where you’re taking me.”

“I _was_ planning on the bed but I’m open to other suggestions.” I couldn’t see his face but I could imagine the expression that accompanied the thought.

“As long as you plan on _doing_ something wherever you take me.”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Oh, _hurry up_ , Sero.”

He chuckled and then whistled happily as he carried me to the master bedroom. Instead of laying me down in the bed properly, he positioned me in such a way that my legs dangled from the edge. I kept my upper body propped up.

“What are you—”

He interrupted me by leaning forward and covering my mouth with his own. I moved backward slowly, my bent forearms providing me stability. Teldryn continued to kiss me, his arms on either side of me.   

            “ _M’sera_ ,” he sighed. He moved downward, kissing my throat and the valleys that hid underneath the delicate bones that led to my shoulders. “Imagine you’re me.” Another slow drag of a tongue across a nipple. I let out a contented moan. His hands stayed my hips and I knew he could feel each time I arched them upward. “And you’re a lovesick fool for a powerful…” Teldryn’s mouth laid kisses along the thin, ragged scars on my abdomen. “… _powerful_ woman.” Another arch of my hips and he smiled arrogantly.

            “Teldryn…” an involuntary plea escaped my mouth. The flicker of candles casted strange shadows on the wall, as if they were watching me succumb to something I wasn’t willing to admit that I wanted to indulge in.

            He ignored me. “So powerful that all of Tamriel knows who she is. As powerful as the Nerevarine.” His fingers gripped my hips harder with each word that passed his lips. I gasped, the air catching in my throat. I arched my back. Teldryn’s hands slid from my hips to the inside of my thighs, pushing them open. “Now. Imagine what it must do to a man like me, knowing that I can bring her to her _knees_.” His smirk only caused my skin to flush with a new wave of heat. “Or on her _back_.”

            Any shred of rationality I’d held onto flew from me as his mouth met with the wet ache between my legs. Grabbing a hold of my thighs, Teldryn expertly licked and lapped at each fold, his tongue carefully avoiding the knot of flesh that ached for his attention. He would certainly hang it over my head later, but I couldn’t help myself from crying out his name over and over, moaning at each pulse of the steady rhythm he was imposing on the actions. I almost let myself get lost in the motions, the soft way his mouth enveloped me and the tight grip of his hands on my flesh. I wrapped my legs around his back and he lifted my hips up slightly, gaining purchase for his mouth to perform all of that work he promised that it could. Outside of my volition, my hands reached down and pushed his head toward me—my fingers tangled in his hair. He moaned against me and finally began to work his tongue against the source of my misery.

            Oh, _gods_.

            It wouldn’t be dragons or gods or the wilds that would claim my life.

            Teldryn Sero was going to kill me. Bit by bit, he would be the one to break me down until there was nothing left of my body. Oh, oh, _oh_ , blessed and cursed divines. I had _some_ idea of what it did to him to have me at his mercy because… wait. What had he said?

Not my first mistake, but this was certainly one of my _worst_.

            I shot up. “Lovesick?” I gasped.

            Teldryn looked up at me from between my legs, his facial hair glistening. As he wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, he grinned. “You _really_ want me to stop right now?”

            I glared at him.

He rested his elbows inside where my thighs bent against my hips, arms crossed. “Don’t get any foolish notions that I love you. I’m not stupid enough to love a person like you, _m’sera_.” He glanced down to trace some of the smaller and lighter scars against my waist.

            I felt my mouth and nostril contort into a snarl, disbelieving what I’d just heard.  “And just what exactly is _wrong_ with me?”

            “Nothing at all.” Kissing the inside of a thigh he answered, “You simply wouldn’t allow such a thing.” He kissed the opposite thigh and stood up. “Besides, if I loved you I would finish what I started.” As he walked to the doorway, he smirked at me and offered, “Good night.”

            And he left me on the bed, a thin film of my own wetness drying against my thighs and the taste of earth on my lips. The shadows on the wall danced a slow, deliberate dance as if to mock me in my need for him.

* * *

 

            I turned over in my bed, the pelts twisting around my legs and feet like creeping vines. Landing on my back, I released an irritated sigh. Sleep wasn’t coming to me despite my fatigue. I’d closed and locked the door to my room in anger but I had serious doubts that Teldryn would be sneaking his way back into room to work me over again.

            Every place he touched burned like a brand and all the places left alone were cold and empty. I was left with nothing but my own devices to unsuccessfully achieve release but my body was rebelling against me: if it wasn’t Teldryn then it wasn’t going to cooperate with me. I turned over again, my arm flinging out wildly and hitting the bed.

            “This is ridiculous,” I muttered into the down mattress. I tried not to think of the Severins when I stayed here but I heartily approved of their extravagant lifestyle. I couldn’t remember if my house in Solitude was this nice. Sitting up I flung my legs over the side of the bed. My nakedness wasn’t something I was comfortable with unless I needed to be; I couldn’t stand looking down and seeing scars. They were nothing but reminders of my past written onto my skin, some etched all the way down to the bone. I retraced where Teldryn’s finger had admired the ones on my chest and shuddered at the memory of how I received them. Everyone thought it impressive I’d survived a dragon taking a swipe at me. Truth be told, had I taken the full brunt of the force, there would have been no saving me. I was lucky that it barely _scraped_ me. I’d been able to crawl away with a few broken bones, blood-stained clothes that never came clean, and these scars.

            I dug around in a chest, a few dressers. Keeping my houses stocked with a variety of clothing was never a priority of mine but the Severins’ supply was much more refined. There were dresses, fine robes, a few articles of clothing that looked like Dunmer daywear, and expensive hats. No simple cotton clothing though. I sighed and pulled a dress over my head, unconcerned about my smalls. Satisfied, I padded around the room, pacing here and there without any real purpose. I would sit down in a chair, only to get up moments later. The creaking sound of my weight leaving the piece of furniture was deafening in the emptiness. I would open a book only to shut it, the slam echoing throughout my empty room.

            I couldn’t distinguish what bothered me more: Teldryn leaving me without any satisfaction or what he’d said about me before he’d left. To be fair, I _didn’t_ hold much love for anything in this world. I was telling Teldryn a kernel of truth when I said respect meant more to me. The whole truth was that respect and fear were the only emotions I had found useful over the years. Love had no place in the business I dealt in. The only thing it had been good for was making me blind to the truth. As much as it pained me to think about it, I knew in my heart that Brynjolf’s honeyed words were sweet, meaningless nothings. That didn’t mean I wasn’t eager to take them, to be taken in like a fool. That also didn’t mean that they didn’t linger in my mind, _almost_ hoping Teldryn would repeat them. I shook the thought out of my head.

            “By Oblivion,” I groaned.

I resolved to take my mind off the whole subject. I flung open my door and briefly looked at the alchemy table before deciding against it, not wanting any shred of a reminder from earlier. I stomped over to the enchanting table and slapped my hands on the glowing outlines. _Enchanting_. My least favorite activity. But, of course, that’s because I was such a miserable failure at it. I grabbed a basketful of soul gems not intending to do anything more than suck the souls one by one out of the stones.

            I slammed one gem in the middle of the table and closed my eyes, breathing heavily. My fingertips made contact with the glowing lines of the table that converged in the center where the gem lay. My palm gathered the energy that focused there and I slowly beckoned the soul upward, an ethereal knot tangling inside my hand. While the gem grew colder and darker, my hand became warmer and brighter. At the last second, I flicked my wrist and the soul dissipated into the air. I usually couldn’t keep it in my palm for more than a second on a good day, but in the mood I was in there wasn’t even a point in trying.

            I only went through a couple more before giving up. My mind might have had the resolve to ignore my body but my body certainly wasn’t giving up with a fight. I paced back and forth from the alcove to my room, refusing to go any further out of fear that Teldryn might assume I’d come crawling to him. Settling in the crook of a doorway, I slapped my hand painfully against the stone and cursed, “Gods damn it all.” It glowed in pain, throbbing dully at the sudden contact. I wondered if he heard me pacing around and cursing, lying in the bed in the room he stayed in while here. And then my mind wandered to if he’d decided to strip fully—if he had decided to take care of himself and leave me writhing in need of him.

            My face burned at that thought. I ached in pain.

            To Oblivion with however he taunted me. I wanted satisfaction. There was nothing more underneath it. After all this time, I was much smarter than that.

            I made my face somber and stone-like as I took calm steps toward the room he used. The door was closed so I knocked curtly. When no answer followed, I knocked again. My irritation growing I called out, “Teldryn?” More silence followed. I shoved the door open only to find no one inside. I turned around and yelled out his name again. The realization dawned over me suddenly. That bastard.

            He probably left for the Netch. The Retching Netch. Whatever.

            I growled in frustration and rushed to my room, tossing clothes from this drawer to that. I tugged on a pair of soft, leather shoes and piled my hair into a messy bun. Going out at night dressed as an assassin probably wouldn’t be wise but I felt uncomfortable so bare. Nonetheless I stomped up the stairs and yanked open the door to Solstheim, the cool night air went right through the dress and I mumbled in quiet complaint. I should have at least thrown on my smalls. Or a cloak. Lucky for me, the town was completely empty. The guards must have run into trouble with the ash spawn again.

            As soon as I reached The Retching Netch, I slowly took the stairs down to the main area not wanting to seem eager. Geldis was sweeping up after the night’s patrons. My steps caused him to look at me.

“Well, glad to see you changed clothes. And gracing me with that lovely face twice in one day? How did I get so lucky?” My facial expression must not have comforted him. Leaning against his broom, he cleared his throat and pointed at my chest—more exposed by the low-cut neckline. “My, Teldryn did say you had some impressive scars. Are they really from a dragon?”

            “If they were I doubt you’d want to irritate someone who survived them,” I warned. “Where is he?”

            Geldis went back to sweeping. “Sorry, m’lady, but he asked not to be disturbed.” His eyes briefly left the floor to glance at me. “Well, unless you… _needed_ him.”

            I balled my fists against my side and seethed.

            “ _His_ words—and tone. Not mine,” he was quick to clarify.

            “He’ll _need_ a master healer if this keeps up.” I blew a strand of hair out of my face.

            Geldis kept sweeping but took the time to point to a room down a hallway. “But try and keep it quiet. I don’t have other guests right now but _I_ still sleep here.” He smiled at me.

            I glared at him. “Surely, you aren’t implying anything.”

            He threw a hand up in innocence. “Nothin’ at all, m’lady.”

            I sighed and ignored him. Taking quick steps to the room at the end of the hall, I swallowed whatever emotions were balled in my chest. I rapped on the door. It opened and Teldryn stood on the other side, dressed only in his pair of leather breeches. His smile was anything but innocent. “ _Weeeell_ , what an unexpected surprise.”

            I kept my mouth flat. “May I come in?”

            Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms. “Why?” He smirked as his voice rumbled low over the words.

            I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. “May I _come in_?”

            He leaned in a little closer and asked mockingly, “Ooooh, is it _important_?”

            I didn’t reply but kept my gaze on his. Teldryn’s eyes were wide and his eyebrows raised as if asking an unspoken question. A few seconds later he smiled and then grabbed my wrist, pulling me in and closing the door. Leaning in to kiss me he laughed, “Let’s be honest, I’m patient but not _that_ patient. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

            In between breaths I admonished, “If you ever do anything like this again, I won’t be happy with you.”

            His hands moved to untie the bodice of the dress, loosing the ties. “Because you’re _thrilled_ with me now.”

 I kissed him hard in response. “I’ll be happier once you shut your mouth.”

“Thought you liked my mouth. Or was that my imagination grinding against my tongue?” Teldryn winked.

“Must have been. _I_ certainly don’t remember spending.”

“Playing dirty? Wicked woman.” He had taken off his own breeches and I realized that he wasn’t wearing any smalls either. My eyes darted back to his face and he laughed again. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed. That would be _rich_.” His hands grabbed my dress by the waist and lifted it over my head, revealing my naked body. Running a finger across one of the scars on my chest he asked, “Wouldn’t that be something? Woman like you doesn’t blink twice when asked to drive a sword through someone’s gut but can’t bring herself to enjoy a man.”

I quickly moved my hand down to his growing erection and began to stroke him back and forth. Teldryn buried his face into the crook of my neck and groaned. “That isn’t a problem for me,” I explained, kissing the side of his shaved scalp. “But this is _you_.”

“Me?" he raggedly asked against my skin. He’d moved his hands to the small of my back, keeping me close as he worked his mouth against my shoulder. There would be more than one dark mark on me once the evening was over. I couldn’t say that I was in much better shape. I could feel wetness beginning to cling to the inside of my thighs and my own breathing was becoming steadily uneven.       

“You want me to enumerate the reasons?” I repeated. “Right now?”

He chuckled and moved to scoop me from the floor with a little more dignity this time around. Teldryn placed me on the bed, flat on my back. Leaning over me he asked, “I should take you up on that offer.”

I glared at him, “You have me here, splayed and practically begging you to finish what you started.” Teldryn grinned. “And you _insist_ on—” He placed his mouth over mine, moving his tongue in slow, lazy motions against my own. One of his knees moved in between my legs and spread them apart, roughly grinding it against me. I moaned, arching my back. My arms slid above my head and my hands gripped the material underneath them. Teldryn slid a hand down my side and settled on my leg, bending it back slightly.

His smile widened at my reaction. “I can’t decide if I like you better like this or writhing under my tongue.”

I hissed, “You aren’t going to like me _at all_ if you continue to tease me so mercilessly.”

“Oh, you ready to beg now?”

His stupid grin was infectious; I could feel myself smile. I wrapped my arms around him and lifted myself to kiss him. “ _Fine_ , I give up. You win. I like you being alive and I’d like you _more_ if you would just _satisfy_ me.”

“I did admit that I wouldn’t mind bedding you.”

* * *

 

There was nothing graceful about the way he had to shift his weight so that his legs were between mine. My arms adjusted themselves so that instead of straining his neck, they were looped under his own arms. With my hands fanned against his back, I could feel the sharp edges of his shoulder blades dulled by muscle and flesh.

“Well then.” He stared at me, still smiling.

“Well?” One of my legs wrapped themselves around the backs of one of his thighs to urge him to get to work. His bent knees weren’t budging though.

Obliging me only slightly, Teldryn shifted his legs so that I could feel his spread mine open even further. Instead of slipping inside of me though, one of his fingers moved again to trace one of the long, ugly, ragged scars running from underneath my right collar bone. I frowned. He was really killing my willingness to take him.

“Teldryn. If you’re a maid, just say so,” I half-joked. “Because it seems like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

He didn’t look up at me but instead traced the second jagged scar underneath the first, its color off from the rest of my flesh. “Maybe I’m savoring the moment.”

“You’ve already done this,” I pointed out, placing my hand on his as he ran down the last scar. “Have some fascination with those?”

Stopping, he slid up slightly so as to edge his erection at the junction of my thighs and the uncomfortably hot and wet source of my irritation. I gasped at the unexpected motion. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little aroused thinking about you…” his eyes wandered from my scars to my neck where he laid a deep kiss. “… sweaty, chest heaving…” and he looked into my eyes, another cocky grin on his lips. “Gorgeous sword in hand.”

 I could have sworn I felt his erection stiffen and an involuntarily shudder ran underneath my skin. My sense of time was slowly becoming useless as Teldryn lowered himself, his arms so close to me I could smell his flesh, reminiscent of ash and something dark—like the sea on a moonless night. Not wanting to be undone so easily, I bit my lower lip. “Do you always try to talk a woman to climax because if so—”

It seemed that Teldryn’s favorite way of stopping my tongue lately had been to kiss me. This time it wasn’t rough or needy. There was just enough contact to throw me off guard, chaste and out of place considering our current state. While still lingering on my lips, one of his arms snaked under my shoulders so as to gain purchase to move forward. Slow and deliberate, his motions allowed him to sheath himself into me; I did my best to ignore the way he released a contented sigh into my hair as he settled inside me. It just felt too comfortable, far too easy.

“Relax,” his voice beckoned quiet and low. “How on Nirn can you enjoy yourself if you’re so tense, _m’sera_?” As his hips moved out and in, I heeded the advice and released the stress from my muscles. A soft moan escaped my mouth as my legs spread wider and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, the muscles there taut as his motions propelled him forward and further into me.

In a moment between his heavy breathing and my cries for more, please more, my hand gripped the flesh at his back and raked my uneven fingernails down his back. Instead of irritating Teldryn, it only served to invigorate his actions. His moaning deepened and became louder. For the first time in years, my mind shut out everything but the belabored sounds of his thrusting and the sweet, sweet release of the tight knot that had tangled itself in my core. Nothing could penetrate the moment I was wrapped in. But, in a moment of weakness, my tongue loosened itself against my better judgment.

“This is… going to sound...” I could feel my own breath oppressively hot against his flesh. “…stupid.”

Between his groaning he managed to drawl out, “What?” against my cheek.

Beads of sweat laced around my bent joints and where my skin met his. “I’ve, ah…” I would have given _anything_ to have been able to swallow back my words. I admitted quickly, “I’ve never been with a Mer before.”

Teldryn stopped abruptly and made a sound that was between a scoff and a laugh. “ _What?_ ”

My emotions swung from arousal to indignant anger at a terrifying speed. “Teldryn Sero, I swear to every god in Aetherius and Oblivion that I will make your life miserable if you ever, _ever_ repeat what I’ve just said.”

He smirked and glanced upwards, as if thinking intently about something. “ _Weeeeell_ , well, well. So _you’re_ the maid here.”

I kicked the side of his leg a little less than gently. “I didn’t drag my arse to _beg_ you to bed me to listen to you prattle on. Does your cock need directions?”

There was another burst of laughter. “Directions? Are you sure we should do this, what with your obvious inexperience with an elf?” I opened my mouth in protest but he just laughed again, “I can’t imagine how daunting I must look to you. My, it’s a wonder you’ve been able to get this far with me. You even remembered to take off your clothes!”

My hands grabbed his neck and yanked his head down, kissing him so roughly that it must have hurt him more than a little. I could feel him smiling as he continued thrusting harder than before. He dragged his teeth against my lip and there was no resisting the urge to drive him further. Arching my back, I lifted my legs so that they wrapped around his back. The only thing Teldryn offered me was, “ _Oh_ , good gods.”

I tried convincing myself that it was simply adequate, good enough. And in some ways it was if I closed my eyes. There were the same sounds and the same, body-numbing sensations but I couldn’t ignore the way his skin smelled or the way his hands couldn’t stay still against my skin. And I promised myself to be silent but the oath was broken again and again and again. In one small moment, my mind went blank and I could feel the familiar wave of release beginning in my center and quietly singing its way up my spine.

“Teldryn?” I was surprised I could even speak coherently at this point.

There was no response save for more heavy panting and his fingers digging into my flesh.

“Teldryn,” I pleaded with more urgency.

“Elyrrya?” He sounded more than a little annoyed that I was interrupting his work. I found myself pleasantly shocked at how easily my name rolled off of his tongue. Dibella may pay Men in moans but the only thing men paid me with was grunting. Or in Brynjolf’s case, _Lass_. The unwanted thought _almost_ jarred my climax from its climb but Teldryn wasn’t patient at this point. “Did you _want_ something, _fetcher_?”

And, oh, I knew what that meant. Enough Dunmer had shouted that at me in anger when I was younger and the rush of hearing it again managed to knock me over my tipping point. My vow of silence was certainly long forgotten as I unsuccessfully muffled my cries in the crook of his neck.

“Oh, praise the Tribunal,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t going to hold out much longer.”

A little less than restrained and still riding down the welcome release of tension, I heard myself purr, “Well, don’t let _me_ stop you.”

That was all the prompt he needed to drive into me further and hold me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe. When I was sure that he was finished, my arms found themselves wrapped loosely against his shoulders and we stayed entwined with one another for what seemed like less time than it actually was. Finally, I couldn’t stand the heat between us and the sweat slipping against our bodies. I pushed him away gently and rolled onto my stomach, kicking away whatever I could to stay cool.

* * *

 

I had only closed my eyes for a minute when I felt his finger on my back, dragging downward.

“So,” he sounded more than a little out of breath. “Where did you get this beauty?”

“Your idea of honey talk is strange.”

            I laid my head against my crossed arms, my smile easy and relaxed. Laying on my stomach, my back was exposed. Teldryn had indeed been interested in bedding me. I just hadn’t known that the interest would be so enthusiastic.

            “And what about this one?” he asked, tracing a line on my back.

            I stretched out slowly, letting what little tension was left in my limp body go. “How am I supposed to remember every cut and scrape?”

            Teldryn was sitting next to me, his back against the makeshift headboard and his legs outstretched against my body. He drew a line, obviously highlighting the scar he had asked about, “Cuts and scrapes, huh?”

            “What about this?” I was able to get an arm to brush against his side where a short, ugly-looking vertical scar graced, the skin a darker shade of grey than the rest of him.

            He laughed. “This is a funny story.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

            “I was in the Grey Quarter and I’d just left the New Gnisis Cornerclub with a woman who had the _most gorgeous_ set of—” he coughed and I couldn’t help but smirk. “—ears,” he finished.

            “Yes, well I know a good set of ears drives me wild,” I joked.

            He lightly hit my arm with the back of his hand. “ _Anyway_ , I had every intention of taking her back to my home—”

            “—with every intention of showing her your own ears, proving to her you weren’t an oversized mudcrab?” I supplied. Teldryn crossed his arms and the corner of his mouth lifted in annoyance. I took the hint and rested my head back into the corners of my elbows, waving a hand. “Fine, fine, tell your story.”

            “I might have been drunker than I should have been when we ran across a Nord who happened to be improbably drunker than I was. I don’t remember what happened to the woman but she must have run off after we started crossing swords. I vaguely remember calling him Talos.”

            I laughed. “I’ll admit I don’t even have the courage to do such a thing in jest.”

            “And then he ran his sword through me.”

            I looked up at him and scowled. “That isn’t funny.”

            He threw his hands up. “I was a Dunmer living in Skyrim. What did you expect? I don’t have a whole lot of stories that end up with me bedding a beautiful man or woman while the town sings my praises.” He returned his hand to rubbing my back. “Besides, you thought parts of it were funny.”

            “I don’t find my friend being ran through hilarious.”

            “How cute,” he drawled. “You _do_ care.”

            “Shhh,” I put a finger to my lips. “You’re ruining my good mood.”

            Teldryn ran his hand down my back but didn’t stop at the small of it. “I could always help you back into one.”

            I reached behind me and grabbed his wrist, pulling it and his hand upward. Placing it closer to me, I intertwined my fingers with his. “As much as I’d like to, I _do_ have work to take care of. Can’t spend my time bedding every mercenary I hire.”

            “Mmhmm,” he mused. “You make a habit of that?”

            “Be serious,” I tried to deflect.

            He refused to take the bait. “You _do_ ,” he laughed.

            “I _do not_ ,” I countered. “Maybe a few but a woman has her needs.”

            Teldryn wouldn’t quit laughing. I frowned and pulled myself up, pulling the covers over myself. He pulled me close to him and kissed my cheek. “Let me have my fun. I just find it unbelievable none of them follow you around like lost goats now.”

            “Well, that’s probably because _most_ of the people I hire or who choose to follow me end up dead,” I stated irritated. It’s like he never listened to me.

            It stopped his mirth though. “Dragons don’t make for the safest target, I’ll grant you that.”

            “Oh,” I mocked, “he _grants_ me that.” I smiled. “If it were easy then there wouldn’t be a need for someone like me to come along every era or so.”

            Teldryn stretched out an arm over his head, the other still holding my hand. Yawning he added, “I’m beginning to believe the dragons only persist because Dragonborns are so damned troublesome.”

            It was contagious—I opened my mouth in a wide yawn. “I could believe that.”

            Teldryn noted, “You still haven’t slept, have you?”

            “I suppose not,” I admitted. “Although you played a hand in it.”

            His smirk couldn’t have looked any more smug. “You deserved it.” A hand moved to my arm and squeezed tightly. “But now you should sleep. I can’t imagine that whatever madness Hermaeus is causing is lessened by sleep deprivation.”

            I felt my face deflate and my frown deepened. “Right.” I tried to get him off the topic. “I could probably eat as many sweet rolls as it would take to cover all of Solstheim. All food here is so horribly devoid of sugar.”

            Teldryn sighed. “It’s like you’re a moon sugar-addled Khajiit at times, you and that sweet tooth.”

            I shrugged, “I can’t help that I have a fondness for sweet things. I also have a fondness for ale if that balances out your opinion of me.”

            He stuck a tongue out in disgust. “Ale is nothing but water. I think much worse of you now.”

            I settled back into the bed and laid against his body. Turned on my side, I faced away from him. “And here I was hoping you had fallen madly in love with me.”

            “Oh, _yes_ ,” he exaggerated dramatically. “The poor Mer who desperately fell in love with the all-mighty Dragonborn,” he scoffed, contempt falling from his craggy words. 

            “I should cut your tongue out for saying such a thing,” I joked.

            “I would cut my own _arm_ off if I ever took such an idea to heart,” he said seriously. Any other person might have thought he was joking, but I knew better. Teldryn was indeed smarter than any foolish notion of romance. Turning around, I faced him and smiled. “What?” he asked.

            “I like it when you echo my own thoughts,” I mused. “I hate it when people try and impress me with grandiose declarations of loyalty and whatever muck they fill their own heads with,” I admitted to him something I rarely voiced aloud.

            Teldryn smiled widely and bent down, placing a light kiss on my lips. “You’re already too cocky for your own good, _m’sera_. No need to add to it.”

            I yawned again, feeling my eyelids lower against my will. Half way to finding sleep I observed, “You keep calling me that.”

            “I’ve also called you a hargraven, wicked, and…” he glanced upward in serious thought. “Have I called you wench yet?”

            “Ha ha. Funny,” I said unamused. “Really, now.”

            I watched him purse his lips in contemplation, working the answer around in his mouth. He finally answered, “I’ll tell you tomorrow when you aren’t so sleep-deprived.”

            Relaxing into the bed, I agreed. I wasn’t that interested but his hesitance piqued my curiosity.

            Teldryn raised an eyebrow and commented, “You’re so much more agreeable after a good—”

            “Shush,” I interrupted and patted beside me. “Sleep with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I've been updating like mad and now we're over halfway finished with the story! That's right, we've made it! This chapter was another reason I took down the old version. Embarrassing writing, clunky dialogue, and a fundamental lack of knowledge as to how sexual romance works in writing. 
> 
> Thanks to lovely guests who've left kudos!
> 
> So, next chapter we'll catch up with Rook since she just got back into town. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	26. Derelict Ebony

“Hey,” I whispered. “You worthless mercenary, wake up.”

            Teldryn gently swatted at me and mumbled something about a hargraven. I frowned and sighed. Sleep wasn’t something I indulged in like a bad habit. I could wake up at the slightest hint of trouble. Teldryn on the other hand needed more prompting to stir him. I tried shoving him but the only reaction I got was another grumble and him rolling over.

            “Hopeless,” I sighed. I couldn’t imagine being able to sleep the day away and not have anything to worry about. Throwing my legs over, I began to gather up my clothes off the floor. Searching the drawers, I found a thin cloak; my pouch had been left behind in the manor. I yanked the dress over me and did my best to smooth out my hair, unsuccessfully taming it into some semblance of order. I hastily twisted it upward and left the room, tying the cloak around my neck.

            The moment I stepped into the main dining area, Geldis found me and a wide smile bloomed on his face. It was early enough that no one else was around that I didn’t have to sneak around. He watched me as I took a seat at the bar and motioned for a drink.

            “Well, good morning to you as well,” Geldis greeted me with a voice a little too high pitched to be anything but knowing.

            “Spare me, Geldis,” I groaned, running a hand down my face. “All I want is a drink.”

            He laughed and reached under the bar to grab a flagon and pivoted at his waist to lean over to a barrel. Turning a spigot, a fresh flow of ale began to foam to the top. Geldis slid the flagon over and began work on wiping down a stack of plates one at a time. “You are indeed a piece of work. If you didn’t seem to attract so much trouble, I wouldn’t mind trying to woo you myself what with the racket I heard last night,” he joked good-naturedly.

            “Talk about a piece of work,” I smirked and tipped the flagon at him. “Cheers.”

            Geldis nodded his head and dutifully kept cleaning. “I don’t want to spoil your… uh… disposition but—believe it or not—someone’s already come in here looking for you.”

            I cocked my mouth. “And let me guess, you told them I was here and that I’d find them later.” I wasn’t pleased with such news after just waking up. After having to deal with Galmar and Yrsarald, my willingness to deal with people with requests had dipped to below tolerable.

            He shrugged. “It was just old Crescius. You know he’s mad about that mine. Even if I hadn’t told him you’d see him later, he’d dog you until you listened to him.”

            Great. Crescius. The old man was fairly harmless but he was obsessed with the mine in Raven Rock. Well, it wasn’t so much the mine itself as it was his great-grandfather’s remains that he claimed were buried deep within. It was almost pathetic the way he’d spent his whole life digging through the derelict mine thinking of nothing but proving his own wild theories right. It was a little annoying. Fortunately his wife, Aphia, was sensible. I resigned myself to speak with them after going back home. Maybe I would be able to make Aphia see that she had to convince Crescius to stop bothering me with the nonsense.

            I paid Geldis and flipped the hood of the cloak over my head. Once home, I began picking up parts of my armor here and there. For a moment I thought I’d lost a bracer but eventually found it underneath the alchemy table. Turning the chitin over in my hand, I could feel a knot of displeasure settle in my stomach. It was too loud and too garish. Even if I were to invest in something more like Teldryn’s, it still wouldn’t be good enough. Too loud and too garish. Far, far too loud. _Too, too loud and garish and loud and—_

I caught myself.

            “Gods damned it all,” I cursed myself but couldn’t exactly find myself blameless. I’d been too careless these past few days, letting myself slip. I put on the chitin armor and my hand moved to my pouch, fumbling for a Black Book. Something felt off—like something was missing. It dawned on me that in my haste to leave the Skaal Village after Storn’s death, I’d forgotten the _Epistolary Acumen._ Just another reason for me to return, I supposed. Chasing the worry out of my mind, I dug out _The Sallow Regent_ instead and began to read.

* * *

 

I heaved out a desperate gasp as I threw the book across the room. I fell painfully on all fours onto the floor. Beads of sweat rolled down my brow and dripped onto the floor, leaving dark splotches on the stone. Some blood seeped through my now cracked and useless armor, spreading in thin veins. I sat back and groped around for my timepiece, my clammy hands not succeeding at the goal. Finally, I found it amongst the junk and septims.

            “Gods damn themselves,” I cursed as I realized four hours had passed. Standing up, I winced. No part of my body felt unwounded. Although I yanked off some plates, the source didn’t reveal itself. The darkness that had been in the _The Sallow Regent_ ’s section of Apocrypha had been painful but there were no visible wounds—or if there had been, all were healed. The only evidence left was the blood and the damaged armor. I hurled the bracer onto the floor. “Useless.”

            I staggered over to the shelves by the alchemy table and scrambled to find a healing potion. Knocking bottles and ingredients onto the floor, I finally found a large bottle, ripped off my helm and took a large swallow. The crippling pain subsided but streams of blood still stained my flesh. I desperately wished that all the armor I owned was something I could wear; it was all either too heavy or made for men. Tapping my finger against a wall, I mulled over the options.

            Other merchants around Raven Rock would be a long-shot but Glover might have something I could use while waiting for armor from Skyrim to return. I’d be damned if I had to traipse about Raven Rock with my chest exposed though. Last thing I needed was every stranger ogling at the scars and asking me where I got them from. For the time being, regular clothing would do. Digging out a spare day outfit, I tugged and pulled until everything felt in place.

            It was comfortable and covered most of me but it would be absolutely useless as far as defense went. I didn’t even bother putting my mask on. I dug out my Nightingale hood and it would do the trick to keep my head and face covered. Walking around Raven Rock in daylight meant running into someone. No one had been out late last night so no one had seen my face. I aimed to keep it that way.

            Leaving, I discovered the sun had come up fully and I was a little unprepared for the brightness. I put a hand to my brow and searched the commons area. There was the usual rabble around the city water supply and various residents were shopping or chatting with one another. I could hear Fethis laughing at something one of the guards had said, the sound ringing past the sound of Glover’s hammer striking the anvil. I took slow, easy steps down the hill—surprisingly, I was enjoying myself. Despite the ash underneath my boots and the annoyance Miraak had proven himself to be, I found myself almost attracted to this place. It was small, homey. Parts of it reminded me of Skyrim but others were unfamiliar enough to keep me interested. At this moment, I could see myself settling here and living out the rest of my days.

            I mentioned as much when I greeted Glover. “Is it always this peaceful when there isn’t an unknown force trying to enslave everyone?”

            He looked up from his work to consider me. We hadn’t talked about his time under Miraak’s influence because, well, why would we? He didn’t know I was the Dragonborn, that it was me who had stopped that problem. I leaned against the railing, yawned.

Glover answered, “Well, that and when there isn’t someone like you inviting trouble at every turn.” He brought down the hammer hard one last time before lifting the sword he was working on with a pair of tongs and quenched it in a trough of water; a thick roll of steam billowed out and I waved my hand through the hot air in order to give myself some relief from the heat. “I’m beginning to see what Delvin meant about you. What’d you do to piss someone like Ulfric Stormcloak off?”

            Ah. So Galmar and Yrsarald had questioned _everyone_ about me. A bit of a mystery though as to why they didn’t let anyone know they were specifically looking for the Dragonborn—Glover didn’t seem to know as much. Or perhaps not. Morrowind had stronger ties to the Empire. If word got back that the Dragonborn wasn’t in Skyrim, that I was needed and couldn’t be found, well… at the very least the Thalmor would take advantage of my absence.

I shrugged. “I stole something from him.”

            Glover laughed and turned the sword that was hardening in the trough. He turned to me with an outstretched hand. “Cute story. Now, I need three thousand.”

            “Three thousand gold? What for?”

            “You don’t think the _Northern Maiden_ makes trips to Solstheim here for fun, do you? I paid them three thousand in advance to have that crew _and_ the boat at your beck and call _and_ to have them talk to Niranye. Lucky for you that she’s still in Windhelm.”

            I’d only mentioned Niranye once to him so I was impressed that he knew to contact her. I waved a hand and scoffed but continued to dig through my pouch, pulling handful after handful of coin bags out and placing them on a nearby table. “Niranye’s my steward in Windhelm—somewhat of a friend—so I hope this isn’t to pay her as well. I keep her pretty well-off to begin with, especially considering I could have killed her.” I didn’t add that she was probably one of the few reasons the Dunmer in Windhelm hadn’t _completely_ turned against me or my business dealings. “And that’s _five_ thousand. Should be enough compensation for whatever trouble you think this is going to cause you.”

            He considered the table and smiled, “You make all your friends by sparing their lives?”

            I grinned back underneath the cloth covering my mouth, “Let’s hope you never find out. So, when’s my armor supposed to be here?”

            “At least not for another week. You were lucky that the ship happened to be in port when I got your message. The captain mentioned that something was happening in Skyrim that was causing some issues with trade. He didn’t think it would affect his work though.”

            I frowned and walked around to the trough with the sword cooling inside. Glover had taken to smelting some ore, the stench of it making my nose curl. “Gods, that’s offensive.” He shrugged. “Do you have anything else?”

            “You mean running around looking like the Morag Tong wasn’t fun enough?” he clarified.

            “News travels fast around here. I can only enjoy the look of fear on Drovas’ face for so long,” I joked. “In all seriousness, I might have damaged it beyond repair already.”

            The knotted look of confusion on Glover’s face matched his exasperated sigh. “I won’t even ask.”

            Crossing my arms I grumbled. “If you don’t have anything for me just say so but I can’t wear anything heavy,” I waved my hands downward to my feet _._ “Not built for it.” Glover chuckled at that. “ _What_?”

            He shook his head as he poked at something in the smelter with a pair of tongs. “It’s like listening to Gallus all over again.”

            I turned over a piece of ingot on the workbench. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

            Glover continued. “It was always, ‘It needs to be _this_ way,’ or ‘I can’t be seen wearing _that_ ; I’m the _Guildmaster._ ’” He shook his head. “Good man but so damned particular.”

            “Being particular is the only reason the Guild is back on its way to being powerful again,” I reminded him, not liking the further comparison. As far as I was concerned it was when Enthir first compared me to Gallus that my life went to Oblivion. I might still be at the College now if it weren’t for all of the bad decisions I made.

            I thought he turned his head and smiled at me. “Well, I do have something I could modify for you but…”

            I imagined that his offer would be less than thrilling. “But what?”

            “I paid Teldryn with my store of Guild supplies for getting that bonemold formula for me.”

            Putting my hand on my hip, I hung my head and sighed. “I won’t even ask what logic led you to give him _everything_. I mean, he’s not even a thief.” I started laughing. “Have you seen him? Loud, obvious. Not exactly made for being sneaky. He doesn’t _need_ armor like that.”

            He shrugged. “Regardless, it’s his now.” I felt an unspoken suggestion hang in the air.

            “Thanks for all the help,” I half-scoffed.

            Walking to the Netch, I had to squeeze past several people crowded around Milore’s shop, flattening myself to swing this way and that past people. Once, I threw out my elbow to gently push someone away. Too many people out socializing and grabbing their midday meals before they returned to their daily work—this was irritating. I missed being in Whiterun when people would move out of my way because they knew who I was.

            “Oof!” the air was pushed out of me as I hit someone and their arms caught me.

            “You should watch your step,” I heard Captain Veleth warn.

            I shoved him off of me and dusted myself off, “Is there something you _need_? Or do you just make a habit of running into people while not paying attention?”

            Veleth coughed uncomfortably before mumbling an apology and rushing past me. I looked back at him and then shook my head. As my hand reached for the door to the Netch, it flew open and hit my face.

            “Gods above!” I screamed as I grabbed my nose, a shock of pain and numbness making me dizzy. A hush fell over the ease of the common’s area, some people beginning to whisper. Dreyla Alor’s face peaked out from the crack of the door.

            “I am _so_ sorry,” she whispered an apology.

            “First Veleth and now you,” I mumbled and waved a hand. “Get out of my sight.” As I gingerly rubbed my nose, Dreyla quickly tiptoed around me.

            Walking down the steps of the establishment, I found more people crowded into the main dining area. I regretted ever calling this place peaceful and my good mood was quickly deteriorating. Whatever had the people in a tizzy was getting on my nerves. I reached Geldis and hissed, “What is going on here?”

            “Ah! You haven’t heard the good news then?” Geldis grinned.

            I rolled my eyes, “Oh _wonderful_. Good news. We should throw a _festival_.”

            Geldis slapped me on the back and I slammed my hand on the counter. “Sorry, but that’s a splendid idea!  Crescius has promised that the mine is going to reopen.”

            “Oh, gods,” I moaned. “He’s already making promises I haven’t agreed to help with?”

            “Not you. Someone else,” he clarified.

“Can’t imagine the fool who agreed to do _that_.” I snorted and began to leave.

Geldis laughed.

            I knocked on the door to Teldryn’s room. Before he could answer, I opened the door to find him fully dressed armored and looking over a map. “You won’t believe the rabble that’s out there,” I greeted.

            “Good afternoon to you as well.” He had an inkwell and a quill by him, outlining something, his hands steady as the ink spread thinly on the old-looking parchment. Dipping the quill into the well he looked at me and continued, “Haven’t seen you all morning.”

            I shrugged and sat on the bed, “I’ve been busy—”

            “You’re the busiest person I’ve ever met,” Teldryn interrupted.

            I sighed, waving a hand dismissively at him. “You have something I need.” I didn’t see any reason to talk about last night or this morning. It meant nothing to either of us aside from a bit of fun between friends.

            He turned completely around and I could see a smirk form under his kerchief, “Didn’t we already settle this earlier?” Uncovering his face completely, he carded his fingers through his mohawk. “Unless we need to have another go at it?”

            I gave him a wary look, “What I _need_ is a set of armor. Specifically, one that Glover gave you.”

            “Armor?” he shook his head.  “The only set I have is this.” Motioning down at his chitin set he added, “Glover paid me for a job earlier but no armor.”

            “No?” I asked surprised. “He said it was part of the payment.”

            His look of confusion didn’t go away. “I remember a lot of things down in that basement but no armor. A sword, shield, lots of gems, food…” I watched as he stroked his beard and looked upward, obviously mulling something over. “There was some clothing but I wouldn’t call it armor.”

            I thought about it for a moment. Glover did say he could modify it for me and, if it belonged with his personal Guild collection, I doubted Teldryn would have called anything from the Thieves Guild armor. “That must be it. How much?”

            “How much for something I don’t even remember looking at?” he asked.

            “I’ll appraise it for you if need be, but I need something to hold me over until my new set comes in.”

            As if finally seeing me for the first time, he motioned at my clothes. “Where’s the Morag Tong set?”

            To skirt the issue, I yielded, “You were right, far too dangerous to be running around dressed like that.”

            His gaze didn’t leave my own. Instead he squinted and threw an arm over the chair, another rested on his legs. “I’d bother asking what the actual story is but I’ve found myself a bit of work. Your armor is just going to have to wait.”          

            He was dead serious, no jovial smile on his face and no laugh behind the words. If I was going to sway him, I’d have to up the ante. “I’ll pay you three times its worth if you just give Glover the armor right now so he can start modifying it.”

            This time he hoisted himself up from the chair and stood in front of me, crossing his arms. I looked up at him. Shaking his head he answered, “And if I decide another type of payment is in order?”

            I cringed in disgust. “I didn’t know you were _that_ type of person. Bedding me is one thing but using that to your advantage? Deplorable.” I went to get up but then he caught me by my waist and smiled. “ _What?”_

            “No, no, nothing so carnal. What I meant to do was hire _you_ on this job I’ve agreed to,” he explained.

            I raised an eyebrow. “I’m no mercenary. And as far as me accompanying you, what could be so difficult you’d need me?”

            Teldryn grinned, “Maybe I like the company.”

            I groaned. “You’re kidding me. This is blackmail, holding armor I could use hostage just so you don’t have to hunt down any reavers on your own.” I shook my head. “I take it back: bed me all you’d like and let me have the armor,” I joked.

            He leaned in closer and kissed me on my clothed cheek, smiling. “I thought I was going to do that anyway.”

            Shoving him off of me I threw my hands up. “You’re insufferable. _Fine_. I’ll help but tell Glover to start working on whatever he has.”

            “Oh, good. I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to resort to anything pathetic. Besides, it might be a nice change from your usual business; no dragons down there, I’m certain.”

            I turned to him, my brow furrowed. “Pardon? Down _where_ exactly?”

            He pointed to the map he’d been working on. “Why, Raven Rock Mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, little bits here and there but it looks like we'll be back on track with the story... er... wait. Yes and no. I hope you liked the last chapter and/or smutty smut. Next chapter will be a Teldryn POV and... uh... there'll be a mature warning above it.
> 
> I'm still blazing along trying to update as quick as my little fingers can type but thank you to all of the lovely guests who've been leaving wonderful kudos and to the ever-diligent SuFin20 for being so kind as to look over the chapters as they're published. Thank you all!
> 
> See you next chapter and thanks for reading! -Ash


	27. Teldryn Interlude VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit sexual content in this chapter

The look on her face was more confusion than it was anger. “ _You_ took that job Crescius goes on about? I’ve seen you turn him down at least once.”

            It was a little amusing, I had to admit. An hour ago Crescius had come looking for Rook while I was eating a small meal at the bar, talking to Geldis. I knew the story well; he’d tried to hire me a number of times off and on through the years but I turned him down, not wanting to waste my skills on something so petty. Imagine his surprise when I finally agreed.

            “You will?” he’d asked excitedly.

            Geldis furrowed his brow. “You will?”

            I shrugged, “Why not? Easy money and it’ll get you to go on with your life.”

            Crescius had slapped me on the back, thanking and instructing me to meet him at the mine entrance. In truth, once I’d heard he was about to ask Rook it now felt like a challenge—the old man thought the job so important that he stopped thinking I was worthy of asking and went straight to requesting the woman who shook him down for a damn pick axe. Surely, that kind of desperation meant _something_. Once I looked at the mine’s map, I realized that the riches it held might actually be worth the quick trip in and out.

            Rook stood by a map of the mine Fethis had lying around and sold to me. Its age required me to take some time and redraw the areas that weren’t as visible as others. She took both of her hands and laid them by each side of the map. I could see her mulling the idea over, tapping one finger while another traced out the routes on the map. “What’s all the racket about the mine reopening, then?”

            I groaned. “Crescius. Probably.” Crescius was convinced that the East Empire Company was hiding something beyond a dried up mine. In addition to finding his dead family member, he believed that once I explored around and tracked the source of the problem, then the mine would be back in business. It wasn’t exactly part of the original agreement but I didn’t see any harm in looking around. Having Rook need something from me though had been icing on the sweet roll; I thought I would have to do some serious negotiating to get her to agree to accompany me.

I walked to where she was and looked over her shoulder. I placed a hand on the small of her back but Rook didn’t seem to notice me as she continued to pour over whatever had piqued her interest. I brushed back her hood, making the action slow and deliberate. She finally took notice of me and pulled down the rest of her mask. I smiled until she turned to face me.

            Rook frowned and I noticed that whatever she’d done before had worn off; her eyes seemed sunken in and dark, her face garishly, sickly pale. “Last night really wore me out,” she tried to joke.

            “Dear gods, what happened to you?” I had to force myself not to start checking her the way I’d see Neloth do, probing her face and poking at her cheekbones. “Rough morning?”

            She shrugged and I watched her hands move to the dark hood before putting them down again. Instead, she adjusted the clothing she wore—so characteristically Dunmer. “I usually feel better afterwards but, based on your reaction, I’m guessing that I don’t _look_ well. Hard to tell after the morning I’ve had.”

            I stared at her. “Afterwards? After _what_?” She just shook her head and pointed back to the map. I knew better than to press the issue. Instead I wound an arm around her shoulders and rubbed the pad of my thumb against the rough spun fabric, feeling a protruding bone underneath.

            “This map shows more than the mines. Crescius might actually be onto something.” Motioning to an area that seemed to be disjointed from the rest, she explained, “You see this in Skyrim sometimes, things built on top of something else and you can tell from a map that it’s not part of the intended structure.” Her dark eyes scanned my inking and ran a finger over a line that wasn’t quite distinct. She took the quill and dipped it into the inkwell. Before completely taking the quill from the bottle she dragged the nib across the lip of the glass. The tines of the slit opened carefully and the excess ink spilled out. A bubble of ink formed at the vent hole and Rook rubbed a finger across the shank of the nib. The bubble burst. Outlining the offending section, the quill dragged across the parchment and the black spread across it like fine vines.

            Before she could do so again, I stayed her wrist. “Come now, don’t mess up my fine work,” I prodded gently.

            She smirked and handed me the quill, another hand cocked on her hip. “Yes, your _fine_ work.”

            I rolled my eyes. Reaching out, I cupped her jaw and ran a thumb across her cheek. At first I thought she might pull away, tell me that I needed to be serious. Instead she leaned into my hand and closed her eyes as if taking a moment to finally take in every kind word I’d said to her, every touch I’d placed on her. The largest of the scars on her face was the one running across her left eye but there were smaller ones here and there—some were light and some were tiny dents in her flesh, like one that appeared to be a nick above her lip. Some of her hair brushed against my fingers. Once, I had mentioned to Rook that long hair wasn’t practical for someone constantly in the middle of danger. “Easy for someone to pull it, yank you back, or rip part of your scalp off.”

She had stroked it protectively and sadly admitted, “I know.”

            Impractical as it was on the battlefield, I liked seeing her dark hair wild and unbound. It was so much like her. I almost had the opportunity to catch a section with my fingertips but she pulled away. She kept a hold of my hand though and asked, “So, can I really not have the armor without having to traipse around in an old, dirty mine?”

            I raised my brow. “I thought you said there was something more to it?”

            “There’s a difference between disinteresting and _mildly_ disinteresting,” she pointed out.

            I sighed, “You can just pay me for it if you like, but some of us do enjoy the company of others.”

            She smiled weakly. “You’ve mentioned that before.” Rook took one last look at the map, mulling the decision over. Resigned, she exhaled and threw her hands upward, “ _Fine._ It’s not like I can do anything else while dressed like this.”

            I grinned widely. Perhaps I could convince her of one more thing before leaving; she’d left so early that I didn’t have a chance to ask her if she _did_ want another go at last night. “Weeeell,” I admitted, “you _did_ leave earlier than I’d hoped.” Moving my hands down to her waist, I tried to read her face looking for any sign of disinterest. “I could think of a few things you could do while dressed like that. Or rather, _not_ dressed like that.”

            She frowned and for the briefest of moments I thought she was going to tell me to go bed myself. Just as fast she beamed and waved an ink-stained hand at me. “As long as you don’t mind a little ink.”

            I grinned and grabbed the quill. I dabbed the nib onto my hand and dotted a splotch of ink onto my hand. “Oops. Clumsy me.”

Rook gave me a sort of bemused smirk and rolled her eyes. “You’re about as subtle as a mammoth at times.” Her hands moved upward toward my chest and unbuckled one of the latches. I grinned.

“Oh, I do like where _this_ is going.” My own hands moved to slide her belt off of her, but she slapped my hands away. “ _What_?”

Instead of answering me, she continued to undo this and untie that while not allowing me one moment to undress her as well. It was tolerable at first. I watched her fingers weave in and out of the fabric and plates of my armor; the actions were having the strangest, arousing effect on me. It was the mere _memory_ of those fingers tangled in my hair, beckoning me to continue my work between her legs, that caused the blood to rush to my cock.

When the last of my armor was off, Rook snapped her fingers at me and motioned upwards. “Off now. We aren’t going to get anywhere with you fully clothed.”

Before she finished her sentence, I was already tearing off my shirt. However, she stilled my hands as I went to yank my pants off. This was getting more than a little irritating.

“ _Gods_ ,” I groaned, “Did you or did you _not_ want to lay with me?” Motioning to my now naked chest, I continued to argue. “Look, I’m being cooperative.”

“And I appreciate your cooperation,” she sort of mumbled before taking me by the shoulders and leading me so that when she pushed me downward, my arse fell into the chair I had been using earlier. “But I really need you to shut up and just do as I ask.” As her hands untied my pants, my legs shifted so as to urge her to finally remove them. I _almost_ asked her to free my cock so that it wouldn’t be painfully cramped but I had the feeling that would only serve to cause her to purposely ignore it further. 

Rook patted my thigh. “Pants off. _Now_.”

I obliged her quickly, tugging back and forth as she did nothing to help me. Instead she sat on her knees, hands in her lap, patiently waiting as my feet kicked my boots off and landed beside her. My pants and smalls around my ankles, she didn’t even bother slipping them off.

“Better,” she mused, gingerly and tortuously sliding a finger down the length of me. I bit my bottom lip. Hard. Then, she took both of her hands and gripped the tops of my thighs, moving her lips closer to the source of my ache. With her mouth tantalizingly close to my hard erection, Rook glanced up and whispered, “Now, here’s the part where I make good on _my_ promise.”

Where her fingertips held onto me, my skin felt flushed and uncomfortable. It was almost embarrassing the way my voice hitched when I asked, “And what promise was that?”

And then she laid a kiss on the inside my thigh. “Your memory that faded?” she asked as her lips planted another kiss closer to my groin inside a thicket of dark hair. “I promised to make it unpleasant for you.” One of her hands snaked toward my hip. With the other, she took her fingers and softly tugged at the hair she’d just kissed. _Oh_ , her wickedness. She was simply too much fun.

Anticipating her next action, I moved to gather her hair in my hand best that I could and tried to gently urge forward. “Is that so?”

There was no good way to brace myself for how unbearably _hot_ her mouth was. Rook didn’t lower herself slowly or gracefully onto my cock but did so as if it were something she was more than eager to take part in. And when she used the hand not holding onto my hip to match her mouth’s movements, I certainly wasn’t going to argue against it. My mind wasn’t in a place to think clearly anyway. All I could focus on were her slow and steady motions moving up and down against me, hot and wet. Occasionally she would tighten her mouth but never so often as to provide me with any release. Just enough so as to steadily build up my release and then quickly snatch it away.

I was acutely aware of the hand on my hip clenched tight against me, her fingernails digging in each time she moved downward on my cock. It had been easy staying relatively quiet last night while enjoying her cry out to me but now, when I was the victim, it was impossible. I slumped down a little more and kicked out of my pants and smalls, spreading my legs further for her. My hips were unabashedly arching upward. My hand that had been resting easy on my leg involuntarily ran through my hair and came back to rest on my forehead as I panted heavily. It slid downward as she sucked a little harder and I groaned.

That only served to encourage Rook to move a little faster while using her tongue to tease the head of my cock. It was about that time that I lost all of my Common and to Oblivion if I cared about finding it again. The Dunmeris slipped from my tongue so easily. She suddenly released herself and rested her elbows against my legs, looking up at me and smiling wickedly.

My face hot, sweat dripped from my forehead. Her expression was more than irritating. “Why on _Nirn_ did you stop?” I tried easing her head back down but she reached behind and released my hand from her hair.

“What _were_ you saying? You know I don’t speak your tongue.” Another flash of that wicked smile.

Groaning, I ran my hand down my face. “You want to _talk_ with me close to spending?”

The only answer was a disinterested shrug but the smile still lingered on her lips.

Oh, how I hated and loved how very difficult she was at times. Even on her knees servicing me, she held all the control, had all the power in this situation. It was almost as intoxicating as having her moan and writhe beneath me. _Almost_.

“Come now,” I urged, one of my legs wrapping behind her to move her forward. “I’m suffering.”

Her eyebrows raised and her eyes widened. “Oh?” And then she stood _up_ , wiping her hands in a motion as if to clean them from something. “Then quest completed then; suffer away, my friend. I’m just making well on my promise.” Rook turned her back to me and then tossed me a cheeky look over her shoulder, winking at me.

Gods. This woman. She was going to be the death of me and I would enjoy every moment I was tortured. I hopped up and rushed to grab her arm to beckon her back but when she turned to face me, her hand flew to her mouth and peals of laughter escaped her.

“What?” I looked down at my still-hard cock. “Surely you aren’t laughing at my state of misery?”

Rook shook her head but continued to laugh. There were no words but she pointed to her own face, where the scar crossed her eye, and then point to me. I looked down at my hand and rolled my eyes; black ink was smeared across where it had met with my face. There was no telling what my face looked like.

Instead of letting her get to me, I grabbed the back of her head—burying my fingers in her hair—and roughly kissed her, making sure the inked part of my face rubbed against her own. When I pulled away, she looked positively incensed.

I cocked my head and grinned. “There. Now we match.” This time when I leaned down to meet her lips, I did so gently.

“Scoundrel.” She rubbed a thumb against her own cheek and frowned at the ink there.

“Scoundrel?” I echoed. “Is that the part I’m to play right now?” My own hands took advantage of her shocked state to untie and loosen parts of her shirt and hood. When I hooked them underneath to strip her from the rest of her clothing, she didn’t fight me.

“Part? I think you’ve earned that title rightly.” Still she continued to aid me, pulling on this and that, one leg up as she pulled off her pants and then the other.

Fully disrobed, it was those scars that always drew my eyes but, if someone asked me, I could have told them she had somewhat smallish breasts that were round and full, the left one a bit marred from scar tissue. Smatterings of tiny and light scars littered her narrow waist that spread into her hips. Following down long legs though was one thing I dared not ask her about: a missing small toe on her left foot. But always, my eyes were drawn back to the marks thrown across her chest, garish and unseemly. And, Tribunal help me, they were gorgeous.

“Happy now?” When she smiled, the ink on her cheek contorted.

“Almost.” My arms wrapped around her waist and I gave her another quick kiss before ushering her to a more affordable area. Without a single word of protest, she allowed me to bend her over the table. As she lay across the map, I briefly wondered if it would be ruined but my erection was focused more on the promise of her hot, sweet fluids around it.

As I planted my feet shoulder-width apart, my palm smoothed against her backside and my other one gripped what flesh I could on her hip. My fingers grazed against her pale flesh. Gaining closer, I took a finger and slid it into the almost too-hot and too-slick opening of her cunt. Unsurprisingly, Rook moaned; however, I watched her hands as well. When they didn’t rake across the table, I decided to slide another finger in her, easing with a little more force. When she strained to lengthen her legs by standing on the tips of her toes, I felt myself harden.

This was the kind of thing that drove me mad. Watching this obviously powerful and capable woman give into her most basic desires and give herself over. Specifically, it was when she gave herself over to _me._ Just watching her wriggle underneath my hand I could have spent. Hearing her sing whispers of my name into the wood of the table tore at my resolve to tease her mercilessly. _I_ wouldn’t last if I kept this up.

Bending over, I leaned in close to her ear and half-laughed, “Now, I don’t care how you do so, but implore me.” My hand first ran up her back and then down, one finger tracing the bones on her spine. I tried not to think about how she hadn’t been eating well. “Beseech me to take you.” I kissed her cheek and I could have spent glancing at her face, so full of longing and absolute need. “Beg me to enter your sweet, hot cunt and give you what I gave you last night.”

Instead, she smirked at me. “I don’t need to beg you for anything when you’re the one obviously ready to spend at a moment’s notice.”

A short, curt laugh escaped me and I slapped her backside a little roughly. “Fine then. We’ll just see who can hold out longest.”

Rook shrugged, “I can stay bent and displayed all day if it pleases you, but you’ll climax before I do.”

If there was anything better than a woman who could handle a sword, it was one who didn’t put it down in the bedroom. Almost carelessly, I eased myself into her. There was no reason to try and arouse myself further. I hated losing; we both did.

It only made it more enjoyable trying to work out what drove her to release. I didn’t have much experience with her body but all I had to do was watch her hands and they were dead tells for what excited her and what bored her. I’d drive myself further and faster and she would moan out my name over and over again. My feet moved inches to the side and to the back, trying to accommodate for my motions. Rook didn’t make it easy—that was for certain. I constantly had to keep my mind occupied from releasing but it was a difficult task. She was so hot it made me ache, hotter than any other man or woman I’d had before.

It shouldn’t have surprised me though, the way she tasted when I kissed her.

My feet moved back another inch and I felt them bump into something. Ignoring it in lieu of trying to win our little game, I continued to work. My hands held onto her hips for dear life. My feet bumped something again but when I tried to move them this time, I felt myself lose balance. Still holding onto her, I brought her down with me.

Rook shrieked slightly as her body fell against mine, my arm wrapped tightly around her waist. My head hit the frame of the bed and my hand flew to the blow. I winced. She leaned over me, half of her body still tangled around mine. Her own hand reached around to rub where mine had flown.

“Are you alright?” She sounded a little breathless.

Despite the pain, I grinned at her, “Oh, I don’t know if I’ll live. There’s probably only one remedy for my injuries.” My head motioned toward the bed.

Rook rolled her eyes. “Only on the condition we call this a draw.”

“A draw _and_ maybe another hour or so here?” I grinned widely.

Leaning in closer, she laid a rough kiss on my lips leaving the taste of fire on them. “ _Yes_ , yes. C’mon now.” She stood upright and offered me her hand. “You still have a mine to go save today. Can’t spend all the hours bedding me.”

I clasped her wrist and she helped pull me upwards, “That a challenge?”

* * *

I envied Rook at the moment. She and Aphia were chatting amicably about restoration spells while I had to listen to Crescius Caerellius tell me his story for what seemed like the twentieth time. It was always about a conspiracy between his great-grandfather, Gratian, and the East Empire Company; however, this time he handed me a letter and a key. Explaining, he motioned to the disjointed location on my map. “A place the East Empire locked up, kept away as a secret.”

            I nodded, waved his uncertainties away. “We’ll figure it out.”

            He kept talking but it was hard to stay focused. I looked around the area we were standing in instead. Cobwebs haunted the corners and what furniture was to be found was antiquated and covered in a thick layer of dust.

            Again, I reassured him that all would be well and motioned for Rook that I was finished.

            When she saw the steep stairs leading downward into the mines, her hands flew up and waved them back and forth. With wide eyes, she refused, “I’m not going down that thing until you do. You can’t even see the bottom of the shaft from here.”

            I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Coward.” Slowly, I began to take careful steps down the loose, creaky stairs. About halfway down, something snapped and my heart leapt into my throat. I also made a startled noise and Rook started laughing at me.

            “And you called _me_ coward.”

            I ignored her and jumped from what I deemed a safe distance. Landing on the wooden platform, I called up, “See? Nothing at all!”

            I heard her groan but I eventually saw a set of legs climbing down the steps as well. While I waited for her, I looked down. The only thing that rose up to meet me was a spiraling set of wooden ramps, winding down into the cloudy depths. A thick cloud of dust seemed permanently settled all around the shaft. A few seconds later, I heard footsteps beside me and some coughing.

            “Gods,” she complained as she uncovered her face. “This is awful.”

            “Oh, yes, uncover your face. That seems wise what with you coughing up a lung.”

            “It’ll clear out as we go down. It’s just because the air is mixing from above,” she motioned forward. “Well, mercenary, this is your job. Lead the way.”

            We pressed forward—the dank walls of the mine rising further around us met with the creaking of old wood beneath our feet. Roots stuck out oddly here and there, clumps of dry earth wove within their tangles. I could hear Rook behind me kicking some barrels, trying to ascertain their contents. As we reached the bottom, there was some scurrying. I readied fire in my hand and tried creeping up behind the source of the noise. I must have alerted whatever it was because the scurry quickened. I rolled my eyes as a skeever popped out from the corner. It began to nibble and scratch in a futile manner at my boots. Closing my hand to extinguish the fire, I unsheathed my sword and skewered the rodent. Its dying screech echoed grotesquely through the long-abandoned shafts. I dragged my sword against a cleaning cloth I’d hung from the hip of my armor.

            I turned around only to find Rook missing. “You around somewhere?” I called out.

            “Over here,” she answered from another section. Glancing from where the skeever had come from, I checked to make sure there was nothing of interest. Satisfied, I followed the sound of her voice. I found her not too far away sitting on the edge of some rickety scaffolding, legs dangling below. Rook took another bite of an apple she was holding and asked, “Fine anyfing intreshing?” Flecks of chewed apple flew down into the shaft below.

            I whistled, looking down at the fall below us. “No.” I jerked a thumb behind me. “Anything in that section?”

            She swallowed the bite and answered, “Cobwebs and dead spiders. Typical for a mine.” After another bite she continued, “How much is Crescius paying you for this job anyway?”

            I groaned and mumbled something unintelligible, reaching around to rub the back of my neck. She was not going to let me live this down.

            She looked up at me and grinned. “What was that?”

            “One hundred, alright?”

            I’m not sure what was worse, her laughing or the sound mocking me as it bounced off the walls of mine. “ _One hundred_? You’re kidding me!”

            “What?” I demanded with my arms wide in front of me, fingers splayed. “Like you said, it’s just a mine. One hundred gold for the old man’s peace of mind and I get to be _your_ boss for a change.” I smiled at the joke but she met me with a critical look. “Easy work.”

            She shook her head and sighed. “This feels like do-gooder work. The kind that _won’t_ be worth it.”

            I frowned at the accusation but didn’t want her to know my true intentions just yet in case I was wrong. “He was going to come to you anyway and beg for your help. I just thought I’d save you the trouble of having to brush him off.”

            “And yet I’m still down here. Somehow I don’t think you were doing any favors.” She grinned slightly and stood up.

            “I won’t bother pointing out that you came willingly.”

            “Don’t remind me.” Her steps echoed as her feet hit the planks leading into another section of the mine. I was following her until we reached a platform—her arm flew out to stop me and she put a finger to her mouth. Flipping her wrist, a void formed in her palm and she snapped it upward. An ethereal sword appeared in its place. “Spiders.”

            “Are you always so cautious?” I shoved ahead of her and unsheathed my sword, “You don’t always have to sneak around corners. Watch.” Confidently I forged ahead and sliced through the first spider we came upon. Rook stood behind me and shrugged.

            “Yes and you’re never going to get better at sneaking around if you don’t practice. Anyone can just wildly swing a sword.”

            I smirked at her. “You’d know about that.” When she reddened I apologized, “You don’t do so wildly—” Another spider leapt up at us and I stepped forward, my other foot pivoting so that I spun creating enough force to stab through its abdomen. “—you just don’t do so with _finesse_.”

            She clapped and rolled her eyes, “Yes, very good. You’ve felled a _spider_.”

            I laughed. “It’s good practice. You should try it, might help with your footwork.” I hit my sword against her boots. “That’s really your problem.”

            We continued forward passing by more cobwebs, dilapidated scaffolding, and empty barrels. Whistling, I killed a few more spiders. Rook spent her time squeezing their fangs out for venom she said was useful in some alchemical work. When I looked at her hands I grimaced. She explained it was usually something one should do with gloves on to avoid having the venom eat through flesh. One quick healing spell later and her hands looked as they always had.

            Not long after, we came upon a boarded up dead end covered with years’ worth of cobwebs. I could hear Rook sigh behind me. “See? Job well done. End reached.” I turned to find her casually strolling back from where we came. I reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

            “Oh, no you don’t. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

            She raised her brow and cocked her mouth. “I lost that about, oh, three years ago.”

            “I can see why the Nords love you so much.” I surveyed the boards and hurled my shoulder into them, parts of the wood giving way.

            “I must have been mad coming down here with you,” she complained as she leaned against a wall and took another apple out of her pouch.

            “Argh!” I shoved myself against the planks harder. “To be fair—” Another hit. “—you are still going mad, correct?”

            The only answer I got was the sound of her chewing. I continued to slam my shoulder against the boards until they gave way. I swiped my sword against the thick layer of cobwebs as Rook followed close behind.

            “Teldryn, at most we’ll find some draugr. Let’s just head back,” she suggested.

            I shook my head and pulled out the letter Crescius had given me, waving it in the air. “This letter specifically mentions ruins. Ruins often lead to gold. If all I need to do is kill a few undead to make twice what I usually charge, so be it. The old man can sleep soundly knowing his great-grandfather’s death was just an accident.” I pointed to the gate ahead of us. “See? Already something promising.”

            “Ooooh, I see what this is about. Once you found out he didn’t know about the possible wealth, you decided to see this through.” 

            As I opened the gate I motioned for her to walk through. “I’m hurt you’d think that I would go to all this work just to stroll around an old dirty mine.”

            Rook jabbed me with an elbow as she passed by and smiled. “Uh-huh. You knew there were ruins here _before_ you accepted his offer.”

            I held up my hands defensively. “ _Fine_. But I hadn’t decided on actually doing a thorough job until I saw the letter.”

            We both looked down at the abandoned mine sections below and Rook cocked her head. “I hear water.”

            I couldn’t see anything past the piles of rubble. Loose sections of planking lay scattered here and there. Parts of the area looked as if it might collapse. Resigned I continued downward. “Let’s try not getting killed down here.”

* * *

 

            Rook and I were uncomfortably cramped in a small opening looking out toward the large chamber we’d stumbled upon. Not too far above everything, it wasn’t difficult to make out the space below. The entire area was towered by huge sections of rectangular rocks. Those framed a body of water in the middle, being fed by waterfalls coming from the ceiling. Even more interesting was the large circular door in the center of it all.

            “How’s the leg?” I asked, touching her shoulder and wincing at her still drenched clothing. There had been water alright—Rook had not been dressed for it and ended up losing her footing more than once while fighting the waves of deathlords that seemed to be at every corner. One had speared a sword right through her leg. Healing spell aside, the only thing she’d been left with was a limp.

            “It’s fine,” she dismissed but kept looking down below. “I guess Crescius was right. Let’s head down.” Sitting on the ledge, Rook slid off and I heard her land close by. “Just stay close to the wall,” I heard a warning come from below.

            I’d been right about the gold and wealth in the ruins but this was taking a turn for the worse. Whatever that door was, it didn’t feel right. Rook, of course, became strangely focused on it the moment we’d spotted it. It was hard to think of her as a victim of fate at times when she seemed to constantly put herself into danger’s path. Not that she probably saw it that way. My guess was that she was so finely tuned to things that were not quite of this plane that they attracted her like a luna moth to a flame. More than likely she was unconscious of the fact.

            I followed her lead and my feet hit the earth below, luckily softened by the moisture of in the air. We had to maneuver around a few jutting precipices to reach the staircase leading to the door. Whatever pathway had previously existed had long been eroded and washed away by the water. Rook jumped ahead of me to the platform that contained the stairs and began to investigate a pile of remains. When I finally caught up to her, something else caught my eye. Several trails of blood led from where we were to the stairs. At the top, a pile of bones laid curled in a fetal position. I bent down to investigate. Underneath the bones, a threadbare journal lay waiting. Years of age and water damage made it delicate but I was able to read most of the writings.

            Rook climbed the stairs, taking two at a time. Briefly she looked over at me before spying something more interesting. “Hello there, sweet roll.” I looked up to see her picking up a large sword with two hands. “Anything about this beauty in there?” The sword didn’t look like anything I’d ever laid eyes on before. The edges were jagged and it glowed evilly with some sort of unearthly, red glow.

            I flipped through the journal some more and found a page. “Ah. This barrow apparently belonged to the Bloodskal Clan. Gratian calls it the Bloodskal blade and seems to think it’s the only way of opening that door.” I handed her the journal as she gave me the sword. The weight of it felt unusual in my hands. I didn’t use two-handed weapons only because I liked having a hand free to casts spells with.

            “Here,” she demanded.

            “What? You want the sword?”

            She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Unless you think _you_ can open that door.”

            “It doesn’t seem like it’s that hard.” I stepped in front of it and smirked at her over my shoulder. “You might want to step back.”

            “Azura save me,” I heard her mutter behind me.

            Despite my best efforts, the sword didn’t seem to have any effect on the door. I swung in the direction of the glow on one of the arch stones but it didn’t move the way the journal had described it. Rook stepped behind me and placed an arm around my shoulder. “Really now. I expected more from you.”     

            I shoved the sword into her arms and joked, “Right. Sure you did.”

            As I watched her plant her feet solidly into the ground, she swung the sword expertly and waves of red flew from the blade, matching the marks on the arch stones; they traveled around until one last swing matched the keystone of the arch. The doors heaved opened and a flood of cold air hit us. Before we walked in, I watched her cram the entire sword into her pouch.

            “Why keep it if you won’t use it?”

            She shrugged, looking ahead unhappily. “I like collecting swords. I’d be more worried about those.” Pointing ahead, I saw swinging blades. I watched their timing for a second or two before shaking my head.

            “Shouldn’t be a problem. Look.” I had a finger follow the blades’ motions. When my finger stopped I made a point to mention, “There’s enough time in between we can both just run through.”

            Rook looked at me incredulously. “Or _you_ can since this is your job. There’s _always_ a lever on the other side.” She made a walking motion with her index and middle finger. “Just trot along and then I can get through safe and sound.”

            Shaking my head, I bent down to kiss her brow, my kerchief meeting her skin. “Ever the brave and fearless hero.”

            She waved me along but I saw her smile a little. I made my way carefully through the blades, counting out the seconds between each swing. Each time I darted in between a section of them, I could feel the wind of the blade at my back and my heart raced. True to Rook’s word, there was a lever at the end. Just as I pulled it though, the door beside me opened. I frowned and called out, “Sorry, no luck.”

            I thought I heard some grumbling before a sudden loud shout rang through the tunnel of blades and the next thing I knew Rook’s body slammed against the pedestal where the lever stood. Immediately, she doubled over and staggered. “You’d think I’d get better at that sometime…”

            “Are you alright?” I had a hand on her back, rubbing it out of concern.

            “Yeah, fine. Didn’t exactly have a lot of room to maneuver around all this,” she waved behind her as she stood upright. “Just had the wind knocked out of me. Might be some bruising but no worse for the wear.” She snapped her gaze in the direction of the door that had just opened. “Do you hear something?”

            I looked around. “No. You sure you didn’t hit your head harder than you thought?”

            Rook looked into the room that was behind the caged barrier the lever had opened. “No, but I’m glad you asked me to come.”

            I tried to see what she saw but all that was to be found was stagnant water and some rocks. “Not seeing anything.”

            She put a finger to my kerchief where my lips were. “I don’t see it either but I _hear_ it.”

            This felt familiar. She’d acted similarly when we’d approached Saering’s Watch. “A word wall? Here?”

            “Makes sense. Old Nord barrows are surprisingly lousy with these things. Only thing I usually have to worry about are some draugrs but other than that it’s smooth sailing from there.”

She looked at me. “Well, those first few times were an exception,” her musing seemed to be focused on something from long ago.

            “Well, what are we waiting for? Looks like this has been a win for both of us.” I forged ahead, taking in the chamber ahead of us. Now that I was further in, I could see the word wall placed at the very center. I couldn’t hear anything but Rook seemed elated. I’m sure she was wondering if this was another step towards defeating Miraak. As I rounded the corner I saw a chest sitting alone on a platform. Between it and the word wall, there was a large pool of water with a thick mist settled on the surface.

            I cracked my knuckles and leaned down to open the lid. “I don’t know about any draugrs but I’ll bet that whatever is in here will be worth the time we’ve spent down here.” Looking inside I frowned, pulling out two pieces of gold. “Gods be damned,” I muttered. All of a sudden Rook landed on top of me, using all of her weight to keep me down. “Oh, what in Oblivion—”

            “Teldryn, _shut up_. No draugrs but something worse.” A flash of lighting flew over our heads as I turned to look at her. She cringed and in both hands started forming dark voids, pulling toward herself and then throwing them downward. From them appeared a form I didn’t recognize and a bow in another hand. The form immediately ran off into the water to fight whatever was attacking us and she started turning around and loosing arrows. I threw out a flame atronach and turned to see what it was had Rook worried.

            Some spirit was floating above the water but it wasn’t a ghost. Its robes hung pathetically off of its skeletal form but ended at a few ragged, tapered ends. The face, however, struck me as slightly familiar. She’d told me about the mask she usually wore. “Dragon Priest?” I asked her.

            She only nodded as another arrow flew past my head. I decided to attack with fire but could not get a good aim. I thought I heard Rook grumble as I hopped up and I ran around the side of the platform surrounding the water. The summons were keeping it distracted so I was able to aim more precisely. I saw an arrow land in its chest and it immediately turned its attention to Rook, oblivious to the attacks that either I or the summons were unleashing. The priest began striking the water with thick bolts of electricity, causing my atronach to explode brilliantly. The form Rook had conjured continued to slash wildly with its spectral daggers despite the fact half of its form was under water.

            I watched as Rook rolled into the water of her own volition and dove under the water. I almost yelled out at her for making such a stupid decision before I realized she was reaching the other side of the platform opposite me. She climbed up a rock jutting out behind the priest and she conjured another bow.

            I ran out of strength to sustain my magicka link, so I pulled out my bow and loosed an arrow straight into its head. I couldn’t tell if Rook was landing any shots but all of mine were catching their mark. I saw Rook drop to her knees as I let the last arrow fly and the priest disintegrated into a pile of ashes. The ashes dropped onto the surface of the water, clumping as they hit.

            “You alright over there?” I called out. I hooked my bow back onto my cuirass and almost thought about running towards her. Instead I waited until she answered, “I’m fine. Nothing serious.” I saw the form walk beside her and stoically stand there until she moved to the wall. Following her, it would occasionally check around corners or wander around to investigate the surroundings. I knew better than to bother her while she learned the word so I simply stood back and watched.

            I’d only seen her learn a word from a wall once before but it was similar to when Hermaeus Mora had taught her a word. She told me it was nothing like I’d described it.

            “No, no. It’s more like knowledge flowing inward. Like I can feel the word being fed to me.” Waving her hand she added, “No one ever sees it that way though.”

            “No,” I’d agreed, “It looks like you disappear into the wall for the briefest of moments.”

            She laughed. “How can you tell with all of that light?”

            “What light? The wall brightens a bit but nothing around you changes. You change.”

            “Interesting,” was all she had after that comment.

            Her entire body relaxed but instead of immediately returning, she sat down and seemed to be intently focused on the wall. Once again I didn’t ask but allowed her to go on. While I was waiting, I dropped into the water to investigate the remains only to find a mask among the ashes. When I came out, Rook was waiting for me.

            “That was unexpected,” she stated, pointing to the mask. I gave it to her and she turned it around in her hands. Running a finger over the face I could tell that something was nagging at her.

            “Very. Anything wrong besides that little unexpected surprise?”

            “Hmm?” she looked up at me. “Oh, no.” Handing it back to me she said, “Zahkriisos.”

            I took it, unsure of why she was acting so strangely. “Zakrisuhs?”

            “No, no. Zahkriisos.” She tapped on the mask. “That’s who this was. At least that’s what the mask says. I can’t be certain without any other clues. Makes sense though.”

            And now she was talking to masks. I had no idea if this was something she could always do or her madness. “Well, he was easy enough to dispatch.”

            She considered me for a moment before slowly asking, “So all you saw was the priest?”

            “Wasn’t that enough?” I asked jokingly, shrugging.

            Rook didn’t say anything, looking down at the mask and obviously mulling something over. “It wasn’t just the priest. He summoned things around him, seekers from Apocrypha. You didn’t see them?”

            That was certainly news to me but it would make sense why Rook had decided to move around and summoned that unusual specter. “From Apocrypha? You mean Hermaeus’s realm?”

            “That’s what I’m saying.” She shook out whatever she was thinking. “It’s probably just related to whatever’s going on.” I was more than a little concerned, wondering if the seekers happened often or if they would cause problems for us later on. I could imagine that she was more than a little shaken at the realization so I decided to change topics.

            “Anything useful on the wall?”

            That seemed to snap her completely back onto this plane. “Yes, actually. It’s one of the words I’ve heard Miraak use.”

            “Wonderful. One step closer then. It looks like we can just exit over there,” I pointed to a doorway behind us.

            “Lead the way, I’m ready to get out of here.”

            I looked back at her, smiling. “I can imagine. Look at you. Soaking wet, covered in dirt, just fought a dragon priest, and you have yourself a new word. Big day.”

            Her weary smile strengthened. “Oh, yes. Big day. This ranks up in the top fifty.”

            As we walked up the steps I began to ask, “Top fifty, you rank—” I stopped suddenly at the pedestal ahead of me, surrounded by lit candles. I’ve always found that to be an unsettling feeling, knowing some places haven’t been visited in years and yet there were candles still standing as if they’d been tended for this entire time. Rook bumped into me.

            “Teldryn, I usually don’t mind indulging you but I _really_ want to get out of here and have Geldis order Drovas to draw me a hot bath.”

            I moved aside to let her see the book. A small waterfall fell behind it, the sound of the water echoing in the staircase.

            “Haaaaail Sithisssss,” I heard behind us. Rook looked startled as well and I glanced at her in question. The ethereal man was close behind her, protective.

            “It’s just Lucien. Be nice.” She walked toward the book, entranced. “He was tortured in his former life.”

            “You can’t be serious. I thought Neloth wanted you to read those with him.”

            “Don’t be silly,” she opened the book. “I’ll just be a second.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, friends. I'm doing my best to update as many chapters as possible while I've got time so thanks for all of your patience!
> 
> Special thanks to a bunch of lovely guests for leaving kudos and an ultra heaping of gratitude to SuFin20 who has been so fantastic about letting me know when things aren't quite right. Thanks to everyone for reading!
> 
> Next chapter? We're back in Apocrypha with Rook. See you then. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	28. An Acceptable Blaspheme

I closed the book I had been reading and didn’t bother placing it back in the fetid stack I’d pulled it from. There was so much knowledge in Apocrypha that no gaps remained for long. Once I’d tried pulling a whole column out only to find that the books replaced themselves quickly. Trying to respect Heramaeus’s request, I simply placed it on a nearby stack. Looking ahead, there were several archways that framed a path. I was making a bad decision but I decided to follow it anyway. Dressed only in common clothing, there was a good chance that my injuries could be more grievous than usual.

            My footsteps felt odd in nothing but leather boots. I could feel the ground below me had more give than usual. I frowned at a short walkway that was exposed to the oily waters. Tentacles whipped at my legs and ankles only confirming my suspicions about the clothing as I felt huge welts form on my skin.  I was going to have to hope that there were enough corners to sneak around to attack whatever might be hiding here.

            Something nagged at me. Taking careful steps, I stretched my arms out and ran my hands through the walls of books surrounding me. I could almost recall something that I had read during my time at the College but it was fuzzy. Not that I found that unusual. That was long before Helgen. Still, there was something lurking under my thoughts. The irony wasn’t lost on me that one of Hermaeus Mora’s champions was having trouble remembering something. I found a table and hopped on top, spinning around so that I could stretch my legs and lean against the rotting book wall. I placed a hand on the wall thoughtlessly when I had the feeling that maybe Apocrypha was just as knowledgeable as Hermaeus. What good was a library full of hidden knowledge in all the known planes if you couldn’t remember where things were?

Better to build a better library then.

            I leaned in close and whispered into the spines, holding my breath so that I didn’t breathe in the stench or parts of the fragile bindings. “I can’t quite recall. Show me what I’ve forgot.”

            Before I took in a breath, several books were shoved out of place and they rearranged themselves in a flurry. A few more thought about their movements before sliding behind ones I couldn’t see and then a stack made itself prominent. Looking over the titles, I wasn’t quite sure I had read any of them. _Lost Prophecy_ , _Varieties of Faith in the Empire,_ and _A Pocket Guide to the Empire: First Edition._ Then, one appeared that I _had_ read before: _Aedra and Daedra_.

            “Oh, what in Oblivion?” I asked the wall. The only reply I received was a sickening pop of the oily water around me. I flipped through the worn copy of _Aedra and Daedra_ but it didn’t seem important. The _Varieties of Faith_ book just seemed to echo it. _Lost Prophecy_ was bound in heavy leather but had only a single printed page amongst blank sections. The word “Dragon-born” stuck out to me but I couldn’t make sense of the passage. I read each line carefully, dissecting word by word.

“This is about the Nerevarine, you stupid library!” In response a book shoved out from the wall and hit me in the head. “Ow!” I hit a section and it seemed to recoil. “ _A Short History of Morrowind?_ ”

            I almost kept reading until I realized that I was in danger of staying here longer than I anticipated. I crammed all the books into my pouch and hopped off the table, continuing my journey through this section of Apocrypha. Coming upon a scrye I ran a finger over the light and it seemed to shrivel inside itself. A doorway of webs opened beside me and I could see a seeker floating around, cataloguing a tome. Taking a step backwards I readied a spell in my hand, hoping to conjure a sword but changed my mind at the last minute and a bow appeared in its stead. Crouching low, I crossed one foot over the other and turning at the waist to get a better aim around the corner.

            I drew back and released. Flattened back onto the wall, I waited until I could be certain that it wasn’t alerted to my location. Satisfied it wasn’t, I glanced around and saw its back to me again. My heart beat irregularly. Taking in a deep, low breath I noticed my hands were clammy and shaking. This was a mistake coming here clothed like this. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so scared. In a way it was a relief—a reminder that I was still able to be frightened so greatly.

            Loosing the arrow I had pulled back, the seeker screeched as the robes it was wearing dropped suddenly with nothing but ash to fill it now. I breathed a sigh of relief and continued down the tunnel. It was claustrophobic in the tiny, cramped space mostly because there were nothing but books around me. Stacks crowded corners, papers flew wildly around me. What little light there was to be had was faint, murky. Eventually, I came across another scrye and it opened a door—blessedly, it led to a more open area. Down the steps I was met with a dark pool of the thick liquid surrounded by a webbed ramp.

            Watching the pool cautiously, I made my way to the ramp. Apocrypha was tricky at times. Anywhere the liquid was there was the possibility of something lurching out of it but all seemed quiet. There was nothing but more papers and books and inkwells at the top of the ramp. I cursed as I swept my hand across the table, the contents noisily crashing to the ground below. “Hermaeus!” I called out to the sick, green sky. “If you want me to kill Miraak, I’m going to need a little more help than this.”

            It was always so stupid the way I pressed the Daedric princes at times. I had never met Hircine but was fairly certain he would never be pleased to make my acquaintance. Back when I was stupid and idealistic, the Companions of Whiterun had agreed to train me after seeing how I fought against the first dragon who had tried to attack the city. Unfortunately, Kodlak Whitemane sought to use me as a tool to help him with his own problems and dragged me down with him. As soon as I could spit the vile werewolf blood out of me I was more disappointed that I couldn’t do so in Hircine’s face. When I later met Azura she never seemed to mind my attitude so I suppose it stuck. My dealings with the princes since had followed a similar pattern—they were relationships of mutual benefits and none of them cared how I acted. An advantage of being a powerful playing piece.

            Hermaeus either couldn’t hear or refused to answer. Before I could move any further, a wave traveled through the floor and I steadied myself under the quake. A throaty roar rang out. I had enough time to throw a storm atronach its way before running down to meet it. The lurker lashed out wildly, its long arms swiping in wide arcs. Each time it took a heavy step, a fresh blossom of tentacles bloomed from the ground. Conjuring a bow as quickly as I could, I jumped down from the ramp onto the edge of the dark pool. The Lurker was distracted momentarily. I jogged backwards, trying to race around to the scrye on the other side of the area all while shooting arrows at the beast.

            It finally noticed me once my atronach unwound. I reared back in panic. “ _YOL… TOOR SHUL_!” A fury raged around the lurker and it stumbled backwards, tripping over itself as its voice pierced my ears. One of my arms flew behind me, trying to find the scrye. I needed to get out of here. Fast. Beside me a wall fell outwards, slowly becoming a staircase.

            “C’mon, c’mon…” I urged it. Before I could get another shot off the bow dissipated in my hands. “Oh, damn.”

            Just before I could take the first steps up, the lurker rushed towards me and a writhing mass shot out of its mouth. I was just a second shy of dodging it.

            The first thought that went through my mind was, _I’m flying._ My feet were lifted off of the ground and I could feel myself moving forward without any effort. The second thought was, _I didn’t know flying was this painful._ My hands went down to my chest and found that a tentacle had shot straight through me. I couldn’t feel my legs. Any movement that was happening was because of gravity. Coughing, I felt a hot liquid spray across my chin. My hand reached to wipe it away. Blood covered it. Lots of it. The lurker retracted the tentacle. I dropped hard. A fresh new flow of blood came spewing out of the hole it left behind.

            The only thing I could do was lie on my back and wait for an opportune moment. I clenched my hand and felt a fire form in the palm. Before the lurker could crush me with its large foot, I threw the fire spark at it. As if stunned, the beast stopped for a moment and then stumbled backwards. A foot fell into the pool and it screamed as the waters sucked it back in.

            “Gods damned—” a coughing fit overtook me and more blood spilled out on the stone below me. I took the hint and stopped talking to hear my own voice. The only indication I had that my legs were still intact was the fact they were dead weight as I pulled myself forward, crawling with my forearms. I couldn’t even reach the stairs. Resigned, I fell flat on my back and stared up at the sky. Like this I almost found it beautiful, relaxing. I felt my eyelids grow heavy.

            I stopped myself. _No. Grab the book,_ I told myself. Willing an arm to reach into my pouch I fumbled around. My fingers scrambled wildly. _Where is it_? Finally, I came upon something and I prayed it was _The Winds of Change_ —the book that brought me here. Pulling it out, I nearly dropped it. I was able to open it and bring it to my face but I couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate. I squinted, the words only blurred more. Turning my head to the side, I coughed some more and more blood came spilling out.

            _I’m going to die._

* * *

 

            Had I been here before? It was hard to tell.

            It was dark but I could almost make out something in front of me.

            A voice spooked me. “‘ _Aedra_ and _Daedra_ are not relative terms.’”

            Before I could respond I heard another voice answer, “If you keep reading that instead of focusing on your studies, Tolfdir is going to have you cleaning out his alembics from now until the next Era.”

            Brelyna? That couldn’t be right. She’s been dead for years. Hearing her voice sent an ache through my heart nonetheless.

            “Oh, Tolfdir can shove it up his arse.”

            And that was _my_ voice. Unmistakable. Suddenly, a bright blue light illuminated the room. I was back at the College. I could see Brelyna at her desk studying diligently as usual while someone who I couldn’t recognize was sitting cross-legged on her bed. The woman had wild dark hair pinned back but a few loose strands framed her face. Tentatively, I stepped out to face them but the two women didn’t seem bothered.

            Brelyna turned around and shook her head. “I don’t understand you. You’re gifted and waste your time with those books. You _do_ realize we set out for Labyrinthian tomorrow, yes? We need to be preparing.”

            I studied the woman closely, her eyes not wavering from the book. Gods, I forgot how young I’d been almost a decade ago. She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not gifted—”

            “—which is why Enthir trusts you with so much College business.”

            I watched myself frown. I remembered this conversation. It was the last I would have with Brelyna before her death. “It’s petty stuff. Nothing magic related.”

            “Still though.” She pointed to the book. “I didn’t know you were so religious.”

            The younger me flipped through the book, smiling. “I’m not. I just find it fascinating. The creators and the changers living in a dichotomy. The Aedra might have the power of creation but they’re essentially mortal for all that power they have. The Daedra though, you can’t kill them—a natural consequence of their chaotic nature. Always living in a state of flux. You can’t kill something that doesn’t stay still.”

            Brelyna rolled her eyes at the younger me and I had to agree. I wasn’t _that_ fascinated with the subject anymore. Despite her lack of understanding, she smiled. “One day you’ll be just like the Arch-Mage, cooped up high in the tower and spending the last of your days reading something that has no use.”

            “Gods, I hope not. This is fun for a little while but I get bored easily.” I cringed at how optimistic I sounded. I threw the book aside and hopped off the bed to look at what Brelyna was working on. “What about you? Still trying to—” my younger self picked up the book and balked. “Ha! _Gods and Worship?_ And you call _me_ strange.”

            Brelyna snatched the book back and gently swatted at me. “This is _research._ Not that sort of indulgence.” She waved a hand at the book tossed aside on the bed. “If I believed for a moment that you were working on improving your conjuration spells then _maybe_ I wouldn’t give you such a hard time.”

            I heard laughter but then everything went black.

            If I was dying then this was nothing like any of the priests or cults ever made it out to be. I’d even been to Sovngarde and still couldn’t quite buy what was going on here.

            Somehow I found myself sitting in an alcove in the dark. Feeling a little more adventurous, I reached out an arm only to touch something made of stone. Suddenly, I was wrapped in twilight.

            “To steal from a god is _most_ unwise.”

            I turned to find the source of the voice only to find myself face to face with more darkness. Whispering to myself I realized where I was. “A scolding mother who pushes her child to do better.”

            A torch lit and I found myself in the Twilight Sepulcher. I was kneeling down and speaking to Nocturnal, shrouded in darkness.

            “I trust you can retrieve the key back from Mercer Frey and repay him for his treachery.”

            I couldn’t control the words coming out of my mouth. “To Nocturnal whose Touch is Mink.”

            I could hear the smile under her voice as she sang, “You were always such an insolent child. Wild as the woods themselves.” She then scolded, “I don’t need your love but I need your service. There is no need to swaddle your deeds in pretty words.”

            I found myself rising and breathe a sigh of relief. “Good. I can’t stand kneeling. My service you can have, m’lady. My love would have been far reaching.”

            “I do not have to be Hermaeus Mora to see that your love is long gone. Poor child. Don’t fret.” I could almost hear something maternal in her words. “Hide in the darkness and the Void will protect you, keep you. _I_ will keep you, child. Just do as I ask.”

* * *

 

            I felt myself falling and then my head hit something hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, what is going on here!? 
> 
> Thanks to all of the lovely guests who've left kudos; don't be shy to let me know what you think about each chapter. I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> Next chapter? Another Teldryn POV. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	29. Teldryn Interlude VIIII

            I was beginning to see why Lucien was tortured to death.

            Sitting on the spiral staircase, I began cleaning the crevices of my helm. Taking advantage of the small waterfall beside me, I cleaned out the brush I was using. Poor Lucien stared at the almost-Rook with as much longing as a specter could have.

            “My Listener?”

            I looked up from what I was doing. “Do you call her that because she puts up with listening to your incessant wailings?”

            “There is murder in the air… I can taste it,” was all I got in response. I couldn’t be sure if he was just rambling or if it was threat to my snide remark.

            I said no more but continued to eye the assassin suspiciously. When he walked in front of the almost-Rook, their two murky forms overlapped one another. It was strange thinking of Rook as an assassin. A thief I could wrap my head around; when she walked it looked like she was always dancing around something quietly. Her preference was to stay back in the shadows. When she did have to take the forefront, it never looked skilled—save for fighting dragons. I suspected it was yet another reason the sword didn’t agree with her.

            With a sword I always felt present at the front and visible. I was _there_ and it felt good knowing I could confidently take a step forward and act. No sneaking around and no rushing in headfirst recklessly. My feet knew where they wanted to be and I was more than willing to push them forward. I scrubbed the brush in deeper, more ash and some dried blood flaking off. Digging in harder, I felt my elbow begin to tighten. I rolled my shoulder back. The cramped space wasn’t agreeing with me.

            “Perhaps we should find a random stranger to murder…” I heard Lucien muse.

            I sighed deeply. “Lucien, my friend, you find me the gold and I will kill any random stranger you’d like. However, I don’t think the afterlife pays well.”

            Lucien answered by running around aimlessly, an ethereal blade drawn. “I grow restless. As does my blade.”

            I shot up and threw my hands in the air. “Fine! If we find something or someone to kill would that satiate you?” Lucien stopped and considered me. As if he understood my offer, he ran to my side and stayed there. “Azura, help me,” I groaned as I ran a hand down my face. I put my helm on and straightened my kerchief. Taking the spiral stairs two by two, the waterlogged wood creaked and bent under my weight. Opening the iron door at the top, we were met by a rocky tunnel.

            Lucien forged ahead but I took my time, having to duck here and there to avoid getting hit by a stray jutting rock. At the end of the tunnel I had to pull a chain to open a hidden door but once we were through, Lucien was more than happy to break into a run. Behind one of the walls I heard a surprised yelp and then a strangled scream. A gleeful laughter followed.

            “Glad to know he likes serving Sithis in the afterlife,” I muttered to myself. Turning a corner, I was surprised to see a comfortable set up—a fire roared in a hot bed of coal with a cooking pot simmering over a spit. A man lay dead at a table for three, a leg of bird still in his mouth but his throat freshly-slit. Beside the dining and cooking area there was a bed that looked surprisingly well-kept. The reavers we had found were also particularly private: a wall separated the sleeping area from the other spaces.

            A few more dead bodies lay littered along the path to a collection of draugrs. At the end lay another, heavily armored one. Lucien was standing over him as if confused. The reaver lord was moaning in pain but I’m sure the assassin thought it was a death rattle. I took out my sword and drove it through his throat. “Lucien, I appreciate the enthusiasm but you really did a shoddy job here.”

            His stony gaze met my own covered one but then turned concerned. “My Listener?”

            “No,” I said flatly. Obviously the afterlife had left him addled.

            Lucien ran off and I searched around. There was no telling how long Rook was going to be. A “second” could be one second or one day. I decided to gather all the dead bodies and carry them to a corner of pathway where a High Elf and an Imperial lay, clothed. I couldn’t find anything on them to identify who they were or why they were here. The blood from the reavers’ slit throats began to run down the back of my armor so I ended up dragging the last of them. When I was finally able to sit down on the bed, I yanked my cuirass off.

            “Gods damn it all,” I cursed. A trail of reaver blood was beginning to dry on the plates I’d had Glover replaced before we met Crescius. The brush I had been using was still moist so I did what I could to remove what I could, hoping it wouldn’t stain. When I was satisfied I did what I could, I checked the stew in the pot. Happily surprised to find a hearty stew with some kind of meat, I ladled several spoonfuls into a bowl. I went ahead and began hungrily slurping down the thick broth. It never failed to surprise me what good cooks reavers turned out to be; it was like all the marauding they did wasn’t enough to keep them busy so some of them strove to be chefs. I wasn’t one to say no to free food.

            After helping myself to another bowl, I heard Lucien’s moans from below the tunnel we had crawled through. Rolling my eyes I called out, “Friend, you might be bound to her but I’m certainly not. She does as she pleases. You’d think you’d know that by now.”

            Still he continued wailing on. I slammed the bowl down on the table and scooted back from the chair I had settled into. “I can’t believe I’m actually giving into a specter’s whining.”

            Against my better judgment I followed the sound of his voice, ducking and clamoring through the too small tunnel. Lucien stood there patiently waiting for me.

            “My Listener,” was all he would say.

            I sighed and crossed my arms. “What does she do to poor undead to make you so attached?” I shook my head and realized I probably knew the answer to that. It was the reason I liked having her around and I was _alive_. There was never a dull moment with her. Sure, Rook attracted trouble but most of the time she spent fighting tooth and nail while spitting in the face of whatever god happened to be pitting against her at that moment. It was exciting. _She_ was an exciting, albeit difficult, person. Being dead only made that all the more attractive because one didn’t have to worry about dying.

            I followed Lucien as he traveled down the stairs and stopped dead in my tracks when we reached the bottom. I saw what he had been complaining about. On the floor lay a thick pool of blood with Rook in the center. If I had been hard-pressed to describe my feelings at that moment, I think she would have laughed to hear “heartbroken” as one of the first that came to mind.

            I ran, my boots now being stained by her blood. My heart raced and I choked on a breath. She was limp, icy, and grey. It almost made me sick to know her specter had sensed something was wrong and I had ignored it. All he did now was stand by, his form unaffected by the blood. I couldn’t tell where the largest wound was, so I took a dagger off my belt that I never used and tore through the center of her clothing. Peeling back the moist, sticky cloth I could still find no source.

Through my fear, I was able to curse her still, “Don’t make it easy for me to help you.” I was able to peel off the rest of her clothing and lifted her naked body so that I could at least wash some of the blood off. Despite being small, her deadweight felt like a ton. “No, not easy at all.”

            The best I could do was lower her into the waters that surrounded the word wall. It was a little disturbing watching her blood bloom from her body and around mine. It flowed gracefully outward, thinning out as it moved further from us. When I examined her further, I was just as perplexed as before: she had a serious knot of blood on her forehead and a shallow gash in her chest but other than that, nothing. Lucien ran to meet us and the blood-soaked waters flowed through his form.

            “Well,” I told him, “I don’t know what’s wrong. All that blood couldn’t have possibly come from these wounds but she’s out cold.” I checked again to make sure her shallow breathing was still steady. Lucien didn’t provide me with any further insight.

            Resigned, I proceeded to carry her back upstairs, both of us sopping wet. She was probably freezing already and the cold waters couldn’t have improved that situation. If getting up the spiral stairs and cramped tunnel was hard by myself, Rook’s unconscious body made the task that much harder. I blessed the Tribunal that Lucien was staying quiet yet close behind. I took care to maneuver so as to make sure I could angle her through. Once or twice I scraped my exposed scalp but nothing serious.

            I laid her down on the bed and proceeded to take off the rest of my armor and undershirt. Doing the best I could to dry her off with one of the pelts on the bed, I took my shirt and ripped it in such a way that the result was a long strip of fabric. I dug out a small healing potion and soaked the strip until I was satisfied. Healing potions were meant to be ingested but I’d seen this method work when drinking a potion was impossible. Sitting her up I began to wrap the strip around her chest. There was nothing I could do for her forehead save for gently dabbing it with potion-soaked fabric. I couldn’t tell if her color was getting any better but the fire was warming her skin.

            Attempting to bundle her in the pelts, I thought I heard moaning but couldn’t be sure if it was Rook or her specter. Watching her chest rise and fall underneath the thick skins, it suddenly dawned on me why she wasn’t interested in being a hero to anyone. The word “Hero” meant something great and legendary when people praised her and sang about her around a fire with a flagon, but none of those people would be around when she ended up in a pool of her own blood. No one would be there to nurse her back to health or support her when she was too frightened to move. I imagined that when Rook first started out, she probably had the same ideas as everyone else about who she was supposed to be: brave, strong, confident. It was probably a shock to her when she realized she fell short, that despite all her power she was powerless in some aspects. If I felt so inclined, I could slit her throat and boast killing the most powerful person in Tamriel. That’s how helpless she was at this moment.

            I dragged a chair to her bedside, uncomfortably cold now myself. My breeches clung to me but I paid them no mind. Lucien also wandered to and fro around the bed. I thought I could hear him faintly praying. If I thought it might do any good, praying might have been an option for me as well. But I shared Rook’s sentiments—if I wanted comfort _then_ I would needlessly pray. What I wanted was to know that she wasn’t going to die. I couldn’t even be sure of that. I rested my elbows on my knees and hung my head between my knees. Confident that I could leave for a moment, I went downstairs to get her pouch. I had no idea how long we would be stuck down here so a few supplies would be worthwhile.

            It was a little gut-wrenching to see all of the blood still standing at the bottom. I hadn’t noticed it before but the Black Book had been thrown aside and lay alone in the corner of the room. Touching it was beyond what I was willing to do for Rook at the moment. Instead I grabbed her pouch and tried not thinking about how blood-stained everything inside would be. Surprisingly, when I emptied it back upstairs, nothing was marred. The amount of junk she carried was unbelievable though.

Soul gems of varying size and color rolled around wildly. I was pretty sure she had more than fifty bottles of potions as well—bottles bounced off the floor without breaking and some of them were only half full. Another good shake and handfuls of gold coins jumped and glittered against the fire as they landed in a heap, some of them spread to areas unknown. I cringed a little. I was fairly certain there was a trick to emptying this thing out and I was not doing a successful job. If she woke up, I had no doubt she’d make me find every last coin. When some books spilled out, I frowned at why she bothered carrying a whole library around. I picked up one that looked in especially bad shape—the ends were singed and there was a great deal of smoke damage.

“ _The Book of the Dragonborn_? Did they give her an instruction manual?” I half-joked to Lucien who didn’t reply.

            A nasty looking dagger fell out as well as a few gems, a comb, some hairpins, a couple of pieces of jewelry and, interestingly, a single ring. I picked it up to examine it but couldn’t make out the inscription written on the inside. It was silver and, while it didn’t seem valuable, I suspected something intimate about it. For the very briefest of seconds I felt like studying the ring was an invasion of privacy. The feeling quickly went away when I reminded myself I’d just taken care of her.

            If there was anything else in the pouch, I couldn’t access it. Instead I collected the stack of books and grabbed the book I had joked about just seconds before. I threw my feet on the table, crossed my legs and turned over to the first page. I yawned. “Lucien, wake me if something happens.”

            I got no reply but the soft breathing under the pelts.

* * *

 

            I had tried passing the time by reading a few of the very dry books I had found in Rook’s possession and then went to picking up the mess I’d made. I wasn’t certain I had found every coin but picking up the ones that had been loosed from the pouch certainly bored me to the point that I decided to take a nap. I laid my head on the table for what seemed like a second but must have been longer because when I awoke, I found Rook sitting upright and peacefully reading. She must have retrieved her hair things from her pouch because it was gathered and pinned upward as tidy as it would allow.

            “Good evening,” she smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.” Lucien continued to stand watch over her.

            I brushed back my mohawk, feeling how disheveled it was. My nerves must had been more frazzled than I thought because seeing her awake lifted a large weight from my shoulders. “You didn’t want to wake _me_?”

            She shrugged and turned back to her book. “You seemed tired.”

            I got up and motioned for her to move over. Once she complied, I settled in and threw an arm over her shoulders. “It must have been from seeing you practically dead and covered head to toe in your own blood.” I frowned. “That’s the sort of thing that tends to grate at one’s energy quickly.”

            Rook looked up at Lucien. “I’m probably more surprised than you are that I’m not dead.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Anything you’d care to share?”

            I was pleasantly shocked that she did. “I’m pretty sure I died in Apocrypha. There’s no way I couldn’t have. I went in unarmored and was mortally wounded—had one of those nasty lurker’s run straight through me.”

            “Well, that explains all the blood.”

            She nodded. “Still hurts pretty badly and I can’t move my legs.” I widened my eyes but before I could ask she explained, “I can still feel them. I just think I’m suffering from some after effects. Lucky for me, you were polite enough to leave all of my things within arm’s reach.” Licking a finger, Rook flipped through another page of some awfully dry looking reading.

            We let the silence hang there for a moment. I could hear Lucien whisper something and Rook didn’t bother to look up as she addressed him, “Speak up, Lucien, I might be the Listener but that doesn’t mean I can _hear_ everything.”

            Lucien didn’t repeat what he said but I took the opportunity to admit, “I was worried.”

            Genuinely surprised she asked, “Why?”

            I bent down and kissed her hair. “You are so _stupid_ sometimes. If it weren’t for your devoted specter there you might have died.”

            She shook her head. “I’m telling you I don’t think I _can_ die in Apocrypha.”

            I’d heard her say some strange things before—and I did my best not to immediately dismiss her words now that we’d traveled with one another the better part of a year—but this was a little more unbelievable than most. “Utter nonsense. Of course you can.”

            “Here? Sure. There? No.” Another flip of the page and she apologized, “Even so, I’m sorry. And…” her hesitation was longer than it should have been. In between the lingering silence, Rook turned another page. “Thank you,” she finished. “I might not have been dying but I probably wasn’t in the best of shape. And uncomfortable. Instead I woke up dry, clean.” She turned another page. “Warm.”

            I smiled and watched her face almost light up. But then her eyes darted back to her book and she bit her bottom lip. “Why so embarrassed? I’m just elated you’re alright.”

            Looking up from her book, her eyes met mine. She seemed less guarded than usual. “I’m not embarrassed. Just… unsure.”

            My heart raced and I was afraid she could feel my pulse quicken. Unsure about what? Just I was about to ask her that exact question, her specter made a sound.

            It was uncomfortable having Lucien looking down at us. His fierce bond to her was astounding to watch but it almost felt like an unwanted child, begging for her attention. Rook must have noticed my obvious displeasure and grinned. “If you think _he’s_ bad you should meet Cicero. Now _there’s_ someone who never leaves my side and is constantly vying for my words and ears.” To Lucien she said, “Would you mind making sure there’s nothing left alive? I’m sure we missed a spider or two,” she assured him. He looked more than happy to comply, running off to wherever he pleased.

            “Better?” she asked.

            “It was eerie the way he knew you were down there,” I admitted. Looking down at what she was reading I pointed, “A list?”

            She nodded to both assertions. “He and I are bonded together, joined by the Void. And, yes, a list.” Placing a finger inside to keep her place, she flipped the cover over and read, “ _Varieties of Faith in the Empire_.” She turned back to her page. “Terribly boring and I can’t figure out why it’s important.”

            “Should it be?” My eyes scanned over the section she was on. “Sotha Sil? Brushing up on your Morrowind history? Or religion? I guess it depends on your perspective.”

            Rook closed the book, obviously tired of its contents. Stretching she yawned, “Do tell. I can never get anything about Morrowind straight.”

            I cleared my throat uncomfortably, Dunmer history and religion were, embarrassingly, things I was never good at explaining to outlanders. “This is really my brother’s sort of passion, I know what everyone else knows.”

            Her brows raised. “You have a brother?”

            I grinned, a little surprised at her interest. “Yes, older actually. Horribly staunch. Your classic Dunmer: off-standish, leery of Men.”

            Rook laughed. “Real charmer like you then?” I nudged her, grinning. She stifled another laugh before continuing. “But seriously, Morrowind.”

            I pursed my lips and thought for a moment. “Sotha Sil was part of the false Tribunal, or Tribunal, depending on who you ask. He along with Vivec and Almalexia were living gods. During their rise to power there had been this conflict between the Chimer and Dwemer.” Her face was a blank and I picked up on her confusion. “Which part?”

            “The Chimer.”

            “My ancestors,” I explained. “Believe it or not Dunmer weren’t always as handsome as I am.”

            “The powers forbid,” she laughed.

            “They were fighting over a Dwemer creation and the Dwemer’s lack of faith in the daedra, so the Tribunal sought after powerful tools to turn themselves into living gods. Long story short, Azura wasn’t pleased with this. When the Nervarine destroyed the Heart of Lorkhan, they essentially lost whatever momentum they had.”

            Rook had turned onto her side and was supporting her head with a hand. “Go on. I’m genuinely interested.”

            Rolling onto my side to face her, I laughed and waved a hand in negation. “I’m really butchering this. It is far more complicated than I’m making it sound.”

            She rolled her eyes and I thought I could hear the sound of Lucien laughing at something. “Believe me, it’s always more complicated than it sounds. What you know? Those are the sort of things common folk remember. Do you think hundreds of years from now Nords will remember anything about me other than the important details?” Chuckling at the idea, she continued, “No, no. The only thing that matters are the impressive things like catching a dragon or conquering Alduin or saving an island. The big picture is often preserved while the fine details are lost, I’ve found.”

            “Well,” I mused for a little while on how to proceed when I finally came upon a good hook. “The reason for the Red Year was because of love.”

            At that her eyes widened and I could tell her mouth was fighting another burst of laughter. Instead she took the hand that was lying on her side and rolled her wrist so that her finger twirled. “Please, continue. This already sounds good.”

            “Over the great city of Vivec, the god Vivec had placed the Baar Dau in the sky. He threatened that if the city ceased to love him he would keep his magic from holding it up and it would crash into the city.”

            “Ah.” Her eyes closed and she nodded knowingly. “So when he lost his power…”

            “Two Dunmer created a device to keep it afloat. Unfortunately, the device required souls to be powered and keep the Baar Dau from falling. Well, after the _expendable_ Dunmers were fed to the device, eventually someone who _wasn’t_ expendable was chosen: the lover of one of the inventors.”

            “ _Of course_.” She sat up and placed a hand to her chest and another wrist melodramatically floated to her forehead. “And he just _had_ to save her.”

            I smirked. “Of course. Well, without a soul, the Baar Dau plummets into the city which in turn causes huge tsunamis and the eruption of Red Mountain.” I pointed indiscriminately toward the outdoors. “Which you can still see today. Vvardenfell is decimated and that’s about it.”

            “And all Dunmer grow up with this charming story,” she added.

            “It is more exciting than the Dragonborn’s,” I joked.

            Rook chuckled, “It really is.” She pointed at the stack of books on the table. “As you may have read, I didn’t exactly have an exciting role. I come in at the very end.”

            I nodded and grabbed the book. “It’s in horrible shape. Why do you keep all of these books?”

            “Oh, that one,” she motioned to the one in my hand, “is a bit of a sentimental piece. Almost a constant mockery. The others I recently picked up in Apocrypha.”

            My face must have dropped in horror as I realized I had touched some of them.

            “Don’t worry, they’re fine. Nothing but ordinary books. But that one is from Helgen,” she explained—touching the spine of it gently, thoughtfully. Her face looked a little nostalgic as if looking off into somewhere else that was far from here. “I used to be able to recite that whole stupid prophecy. The Red Mountain part I remembered but the Blades had me look into the Tribunal as well. You can imagine how well that went when two Men were trying to teach Mer history to another Man. Eventually, I found I could only remember the last part. _The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn._ ”

            I opened the book to the passage she was referring to. “That is what it says.”

            “And nothing after that,” her voice took on an even sadder tone. “Well, I suppose Miraak isn’t a big enough problem to be considered prophecy-worthy.” Rook’s already weary smile lost some of its vigor.

            “So it’s from Helgen?” I tried changing the topic.

            “Yes,” she nodded. “From the day Alduin attacked.”

            My eyes widened in surprise and I’m sure my voice didn’t hide it well either, “You were there? With Ulfric?”

            Her smile widened. “I’m the Dragonborn. It’s practically implied that I be there when the World-Eater returned.” She shook her head. “Actually, my neck was on the chopping block. I had just laid my head onto the block—a man’s still bleeding one lay before me—and the executioner was _this_ close,” Rook brought her index and thumb together close enough that there was almost no space in between them, “to beheading me. I’m not sure if Alduin ever realized he saved the person who—” She stopped suddenly, as if choosing her words carefully. “Stopped him,” was where she finally settled.

            A quiet washed over us with only the crackle of the fire to fill in the blanks. Without any warning, she reached up and traced the tattoos on my face. I smiled and asked, “What?”

            “There a story behind these?” Her finger traced down from my cheek and across my lip.

            “Nothing special.” I caught her hand and kissed the cup of her palm. Then, I closed her fingers around where my lips had been. The look on her face was softer than anything I thought her capable of—part surprise and part something foreign to me. “I’m not a Nord with a special tattoo for every bear I’ve ever run across.” That elicited a laugh from her. “In case you’ve forgotten I’m Mer.” I pointed to my ears and then my eyes and motioned around my face. I did my best to scowl. “A very serious, suspicious-of-all- _n’wah_ Mer.”

            “Very convincing,” Rook commented while reaching back to adjust her hair. Another strand fell askew but she seemed satisfied with whatever she had done.

            I relaxed back and looked at the poorly constructed wall ahead of us, hiding the draugr resting places behind it. Swinging an arm in a wide and slow arc, I playfully slapped one of her legs. “How’re these feeling?”

            “Weak.” She rubbed one protectively. Slowly she added, “I know you think I’m mad but I’m fairly certain I died. Despite that, I think I might be beginning to understand why I can’t bring myself to using those other words.” She glanced at the fire. I could almost hear her think, _What will you burn? What will you spare?_ Those words often accompanied her fascination with flames. “Because my control over them is only going to worsen if I don’t understand how to use them.”

            I shook my head. “I’m not going to pretend to try to understand.”

            Rook bit her lip and crossed her arms. “There are certain words,” she began, “that are naturally of the dragons. But sometimes there are words and shouts that are based on the language. Those words are not so easy to either come by or master. I had to learn the Dragonrend shout—the one that pulls dragons down to Nirn—by reading an Elder Scroll and traveling through time. It’s a shout that was created by Man.”

            “And you think that the same is true for whatever gives you power to control dragons?” I guessed. Her wild stories never ended but Elder Scrolls were sacred objects, items of immense and unfathomable power. This one could very well be true.

            “Right. I’m fairly certain these words aren’t natural either. I had to learn two of the three from Hermaeus Mora. My guess is that the Nords couldn’t fathom the use of the power to control mortals and dragons so it got lost in time—the wall left on Nirn was only for the stones.” She pointed to the stack beside us. “And I think if I can just remember something I’ll have the answer.”

            Rook yawned again and I felt the urge to mimic her. Stretching out further I noticed her forehead was still swollen but no longer bloodied. “And how’s everything else?” I motioned to her chest.

            She shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt as bad.” Unwrapping my torn clothes from herself, Rook examined the section that had once been lacerated, now completely healed. Shaking her head she answered, “Nothing here either, although this bandage looks familiar.” She touched my bare chest. Her hand lingered for a moment too long but I didn’t complain. “Is chitin so comfortable that you can wear it without any underclothes?”

            “Not particularly.” I tried fluffing my hair out again but instead ended up yawning and scratching my scalp. “Is Lucien still running around?”

            “Should be. Why?” she smiled. “You warming up to him? I’ll be more than happy to put in a good word for you to the Night Mother.”

            I cocked my mouth at her. “Funny. No, I was wondering if we could sleep here for the night without any fear of waking up to reavers standing over us with a knife at our throats.” Motioning to the other side of the wall, I added, “There’s a door up there and more than likely more reavers will seek shelter here tomorrow.”

            She rolled her eyes. “There have been times when all I’ve had was Lucien watching over me. I’m sure he can handle some wayward bandits.”

            Settling into the bed on top of the pelts, I crossed my arms and legs. Yawning, I explained further, “Also, I wasn’t exaggerating when I said you frazzled my nerves.”

            “I know.” Rook wriggled a bit under the covers. Her legs weren’t quite cooperating with her yet. “You mentioned that you never exaggerate.”

            My eyes closed and I scoffed, “Because I don’t.”

            “I’m still cold.”

            “So?” I opened one eye and glanced at her.

            She tugged at the covers beneath me. “Keep me warm.”

            “Can’t get enough of me, hmm?” I began to slip underneath the pelts and settle beside her.

            Rook put a finger to my lips to stay them. “Perhaps enough of your mouth. I could use your body though.”

            I turned my head to meet her eyes, losing at suppressing the grin that came over my face.

            Before I could make a comment, she put a second finger to my lips. “And not a word about me using your body. We can save that for later.”

            I kissed her fingertips and then took her hand, resting it against my chest. “Looking forward to that.”

            Her head rested against my shoulder. For a few minutes, there was nothing but silence and the sound of the fire. Raising my arm, I settled it around her. She took the opportunity to slide into the crook of my arm. I looked down at her. “This whole fiasco took a turn for the strange.”

            She simply nodded. “When we get back, we should just celebrate with everyone else. I’m pretty sure I owe you about thirty rounds now.”

            “Thirty-two, but I’m not counting.”

            “Teldryn?”

            My name startled me momentarily awake, “Mhhm?”

            “I meant what I said before. About thanking you,” she sounded half-asleep. “I would have been fine but it was nice for once not waking up in a puddle of my own blood and wondering what happened. You’d be surprised how often it does.”

            I shook my head. “You are so dense at times.” I laid my head against hers, falling back asleep. “How could have I have done anything else?”

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has probably always been one of my favorite chapters. Any moment with these two enjoying quiet and small moments with one another is such a nice contrast with them fighting together (which I also like). Also, you might have noticed that the chapters are getting a bit heavier on the lore. Most of the information is directly important to this story while some small tidbits are connected to the sequel. Another theme in Hero, Event, Prophecy concerns how history and people are remembered over time. This chapter is one of the first to really hit that home. There will be some callbacks to the Nerevarine and the Hero of Kvatch more explicitly in Leading the Blind but I'll be sure to mention when something crops up.
> 
> I mentioned in an earlier chapter's A/N that I was worried that I would start losing people once the story started weaving in more elements from other lore, as well as tying some things together with my own head canons and expanding on some events/people. Let me know if something starts getting so confusing that it's just incomprehensible.
> 
> So, special thanks to all of the lovely guests who've left kudos! Thank you!
> 
> Next chapter? A bit of a celebration for all of Rook and Teldryn's hard work. Have a happy new year! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	30. Embers

Dying on another plane of existence hadn’t done my body any good on this one. Struggling to open my eyes, I was pleased to find I could now move my legs—albeit they were painfully stiff. My head was throbbing and a dull ache throbbed through my chest and back. Lifting myself by a forearm, I was able to straighten my back upright. A sharp stab to my scalp and my hand flew to the source: a hairpin askew. The fire was still roaring, a fresh set of wood on top of the coals that had been warming the small enclosure. Beside me, Teldryn’s side of the bed was cold. No sign of him or Lucien.

             I threw my legs over the bed before realizing I was still naked. Grumbling, I gathered the pelts around my body and felt my legs give a little as I tried to gracefully slide over onto a chair. The pile of books sat untouched as well as what looked like a folded map. When I opened it I realized it was the map Teldryn had been working on yesterday morning. All the lines were darkened and some notes had been scribbled here and there, marking where certain passages and areas were. I heard a door close and I jumped. Not wanting to be caught unawares, I turned around and readied an ice in one of my palms. When Teldryn popped around the corner, I closed my hand and felt the ice melt. “Early morning?”

            “Morning?” He flopped onto the bed and took off his helm, sweat dripping from his brow. Folding his kerchief upward, he wiped his brow and then lowered it down around his neck. Under his chitin was a roughspin shirt that didn’t quite match his breeches. “It’s almost early afternoon.”

            “Hot outside?” I clutched the pelts a bit tighter around me. The chill in my bones hadn’t quite receded.

            “Well, it is when you’re busy killing reavers,” he explained.

            I yawned. “Better you then me I suppose. Lucien whoosh off back to the Void?”

            He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that the technical term for something like that?” Waving a hand he continued, “Yes, but I’ve already cleared out the towers and we’re actually not far from Raven Rock.”

            Groaning I looked at the fire and thought about trying to eat. “Towers?” I reached over for a bowl and went to stand up. I found my legs could support me well enough. Ladling a spoonful of the stew I asked, “How high up are we?”

            As I slurped noisily, Teldryn explained, “Not too terribly high but we’ve got a bit of ways to travel down.” I saw him consider me, standing upright. “You feeling up to a trip back? Because I’m not carrying you.” I thought I saw him stifle a smile.

            Nodding I shoved another spoonful into my mouth, “Mhhmm,” I swallowed. “Good as ever.” Knocking on my legs I continued, “Although I’m not sure I should go to Raven Rock like this.”

            This time he did laugh and stood up. “I was hoping you’d ask about that.” Pointing to something on the other side of the wall, he took my hand and said, “Well, c’mon then, if you’re feeling better we need to get you ready and we can finally get out of this dank pit.”

            I stumbled forward, tipping the bowl into my mouth with the other hand. As I finished the stew, I threw it without aiming and I heard it bang against something. “Teldryn, I said I was feeling better. That doesn’t mean you need to pull my arm off.” He motioned to a pile of dead bodies. I felt my nostrils flare and my mouth contort. “Well, I always knew you were quite the charmer but you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

            He nudged me hard and snorted, “As if I’d get you anything so nice.” Shaking his head he continued, “You have your choice of _fine_ armor right here.”

            I almost complained but then resigned to the fact that I couldn’t walk out of here naked. Shooing him away I complained, “Go then. My fragile modesty you know.”

            Teldryn complied by walking back to the makeshift living area but continued to talk to me. I let the pelt fall down to my feet and looked around at the choices I had. There was much to be desired but I finally settled on a set of leather and steel that didn’t look in bad shape. Buckling some straps I finally started paying attention to what he was saying.

            “—and then there were a few more chests but other than that, no major difficulties,” he finished. He had been describing how he and Lucien had cleared out the reavers outside, obviously reaching for something to talk about.

            I squirmed in the ridiculous looking armor but was satisfied that it would do the trick. “Fascinating,” I mindlessly commented. Walking back around to where my things were, Teldryn whistled.

            “Very classy.”

            I resisted the urge hit him and instead ignored him, cramming my books and other various knick knacks into my pouch. As I was hitching it onto my belt I heard him go on.

            “No, seriously. I think I might just throw my set into the sea and steal armor off of one of those dead men myself,” he laughed.

            I shot him a look and put on the helmet that was about a size too big for my head. When I turned my neck, the helmet spun slightly. I decided against it and threw it onto the floor. “I would appreciate a little decorum.”

            He snorted. “ _You_ talking about decorum.”

            Rolling my eyes I touched his shoulder. “Yes, yes. Give me some credit. I’m at least trying to be safe.”

            Teldryn nodded somberly. “Yes, well done. Here,” he handed me a wad of cloth and when I unfolded it, found it was my Nightingale hood.

            I smiled and tugged it over my head. “Well, I’m fit to meet a Jarl or king now. Maybe even the emperor himself.” Teldryn couldn’t contain himself any longer and burst out into a fresh wave of laughter. He was wiping tears from his eyes before I started laughing myself. “Gods, I look ridiculous.”

            One last laugh and he put his helm on and pulled his kerchief up. “You need to get that armor from Glover as soon as we get into town. I’ve seen some pathetic looking things in my time but this takes the sweet roll.”

            We made our way to the exit and I soon saw what he meant—not terribly high above the island, we were far above enough that neither of us felt comfortable running across the narrow stone bridge that connected us to the other towers. Reaching the first tower, I noticed a body lying in a corner, the blood around its torso already congealed. Once we’d made our way down the ramps and stairs leading to the ground, we stayed close to the coast until Raven Rock came into view. Passing by the All-Maker Stone, I stopped for the briefest of seconds. It didn’t look like anything special now. The stone stood bare, all the adornments that Miraak inspired had crumbled and lay abandoned beside the stone circle.

            Teldryn was a good few paces ahead of me, eager to get to Crescius and ring the celebration throughout Raven Rock. I had settled into a slower, more even pace. A part of me wanted to be cautious but a bubble of excitement rose in my belly, thinking that maybe I was finally getting the upper hand against Miraak with the word I’d learned. I couldn’t allow myself to be so confident though. I was far from understanding what it was I could only half-remember.

            When we reached the outskirts of Raven Rock, he and I waved good-bye to one another as I made my way to Glover’s and he to Crescius and Aphia’s home. Relieved to see Glover diligently working, my first words to him were, “This is what happens when I’m left to my own devices.”

            He looked up from the piece of shiny plating he had been pounding on. A quick gaze and he immediately went back to work. “Your armor is inside. Please, do us all a favor and change immediately.”

            I complied without complaint, ducking into his house and turning into his main living area. The armor was lying across a chair, a dull greyish-brown but familiar all the same. Not concerned about the fragile modesty I often joked about, I shrugged off the leather and steel and worked on shimmying into the dark suit made of soft, pliable leather. It was sleeveless but my gauntlets and shoulder bracings covered most of my arms. Tugging on the outer vest, I buckled the various pockets and belts so that it was snug but comfortable. The boots were almost luxurious—when I put a foot down, it was as if I hit nothingness. No sound reverberated through the room. Once I had the hood lowered and the kerchief over my mouth, I felt more than satisfied. Running my hands over the thick stitching of the headpiece, a wide smile creeped across my face.

            I had to suppress the urge to bound downstairs, instead taking them one by one in slow, deliberate steps. When I reached Glover, he grinned and commented, “Much better.”

            I nodded happily. “I’d kiss you if I didn’t think I’d get soot and dirt all over me.” I patted the supple leather. “Where did you get such a choice piece of armor? I’d dare say that it’s much finer than the Guildmaster’s set.” I took a few steps, still admiring the way I was practically silent. “I take that back—it is far better. Much more flexibility.”

            He stopped what he was doing to lean against the workbench and cross his arms. “I made it.” The smile on his face told me that he was basking in the praise.

            “Very fine work,” I complimented again. I tiptoed around the work area, demonstrating my clear adoration. I comically put a hand to my ears, closed my eyes, and brought my smile wider. “Hear that? _Nothing_.”

            Glover slapped me on the back and laughed heartily, “Glad to see someone admires my hard work.” He cocked a head toward The Retching Netch. “So I’ve been hearing rumors that the mine is being reopened. Going to be quite the festival in the city tonight.”

            I waved my hand dismissively. “Their mine be damned. I have proper armor now.”

            He shook his head. “You say that now but not a soul within a mile of here is going to be without a hangover come morning. I would go so far as to guess that no one crawls out of their beds before the sun hits noon.”

            I looked over at The Retching Netch. There were a few people chattering excitedly, hands flying wildly and their tones loud and high pitched. Shaking my head all I could say was, “Well, good for them, I suppose.”

Making my way back home I heard Glover call out, “ _You’re welcome_.”

I waved a hand behind me and replied, “Yes, thanks.”

            When I was finally alone with my thoughts, I took a moment to yank the stack of books from my pouch. I placed them on a nearby table and tried to read a section of the topmost selection but found my eyelids growing heavy. Yawning I resigned myself to more sleep and trudged downstairs. Nor even bothering to undress, I curled into the pelts and instantly fell asleep.

* * *

 

            The racket outside woke me up—quite an impressive feat since I was underground. I could hear joyful screaming, singing, and music. I had been sleeping somewhat peacefully despite some sore muscles. I dragged myself to the alchemy alcove and frowned at all the bottles laying on the floor along with some various ingredients thrown around. I picked up a health potion and drank it slowly. Over the years I had developed an insensitivity to the nutty taste of health potions. It was like drinking water now. Throwing the empty bottle into a basket, I took another and then another. I wasn’t too particular on how I organized my stock. Large, rounded bottles were next to stout, square ones. Poultices for dressing wounds were next to poisons; brews that strengthened a man’s ability to swing an axe were beside liquids that would sever a magicka link.

            I frowned when I saw some choice ingredients crushed. Picking up a luna moth wing by my index and thumb, half of it crumbled in delicate chunks to the ground. I cupped what could be salvaged into the mortar but already knew it was fruitless. There were some days I _almost_ missed being at the College but it never came close to a full-blown sickness for it. I gave up on the remainder of the mess and decided to see just how big of a festival was being thrown.

            Glover’s estimation had not been close to the celebration I was met with. Still half-light outside, I was able to look down the hill toward Raven Rock proper and see a giant crowd of people dancing and singing about a bonfire. Many held a flagon of sujamma in one hand and a bottle of ale in the other. All of the Redoran Guard were out and about, most were drunkenly yelling at the top of their lungs. Many Dunmer were familiar but I saw plenty of unfamiliar faces as well. Someone had thought it a stylish choice to string ash yam blooms across all the doorways. More excited singing and shouting in a language I didn’t understand came from the short distance away from me. After another moment, I saw Teldryn slide into view as he and a few other Dunmer danced around one another. His face was uncovered but he still wore the rest of his armor. It was hard to miss the mirth on his face, even from this distance.

            I wasn’t able to stop the smile that spread across my face. Relaxed, I crossed my arms and leaned against the archway of my manor. My feelings for him were slowly shifting from an easy friend with no attachments to something more. Even though I’d warned myself against such a thing, this was satisfying. Any other person I would have expected to dote and fret after me finding me unconscious and covered in blood. Teldryn had been quick to just trust that I knew my limits. And I trusted him—other hires might have robbed me or left me alone. I glanced down at my hand, thinking about the way he’d gently laid a kiss inside of it. Gods. Perhaps more than satisfying. More than—

My skin flushed and I quickly glanced back at the stack of books. I almost found it amusing that he had taken to reading the stack of books I’d collected. The look on his face when he found out they were from Apocrypha was even more humorous. I would have paid good coin to see him touch the Black Book.

            It was with that thought I slowly realized _The Winds of Change_ hadn’t been in the stack. Fumbling through my pouch, I was horrified to find that it wasn’t there either. I looked up and could still see Teldryn, clinking flagons with another man. Gritting my teeth, I kicked the nearest rock to me and stifled a yell of frustration. Whatever feelings of affection I had been entertaining quickly vanished.

            “I’m going to have to go all the way back,” I said to myself, mostly just to vent. “That  useless piece of…” Letting the thought hang there, it did occur to me that the towers that led to where I thought the book had been left weren’t far from here. “I could be there and back in less than thirty minutes,” I reasoned to myself. I took one last look at the joyous, golden glow below and turned away from it.

* * *

            Being forced to travel through a pair of empty towers in the eerie quiet of the forest with dead bodies littering the steps wasn’t my idea of reassuring. A candlelight spell floated above me to light my way, but I couldn’t see that far ahead of me. The only sound to keep me company was the echo of water below as I stomped carelessly through the chambers. Wood creaked and snapped as I lazily kicked a cold, lifeless body from my path. I was a little more cautious as I rounded the ramps that were scaffolded to the exterior of the towers but when I finally reached the door to the living area, relief washed over me.

            Opening the door carefully, I tiptoed around so as not to alert anyone who might be around to my presence. Luckily, no one was in the living area or the tunnel that led down to the spiral staircase. I had to admit, backtracking wasn’t something I engaged in often—good waste of my time. When I reached the pedestal, my stomach involuntarily lurched at the sight of all the dried blood. I noticed the book thrown in a corner, opened face down and the edges a little bloodstained.

            “Hermaeus is going to like this dramatic touch,” I absentmindedly commented as I grabbed the book and slammed it shut. I heard a groan from the direction of the word wall and jumped. My breathing turned ragged and my pulse raced. I wasn’t afraid but my body was telling me otherwise. As quietly as I could, I shoved the book into my pouch and readied the quickest offensive spell I could. I flattened myself against the wall as I creeped along to see who was there.

            Craning my neck to get a better view, I was surprised to see a ghost. It didn’t wander or move around. Instead it stood facing the word wall, motionless. I flicked my wrist and a wisp of fire flew from my palm. I couldn’t tell but the specter looked like it had been dressed in tattered robes—some sharp shoulder plates jutted out unflatteringly from the natural shoulder line and the form looked to be a balding, older man. A groaning noise came from his direction and the sound bounced from him to the wall and out to the empty, water-filled chamber.

            “Hello?” I called out. Probably not the best of ideas but I was feeling assured that the form couldn’t hurt me.

            The ghost turned to me and suddenly began taking steps onto the water, striding at a steady pace. He stopped a few feet from me and unexpectedly demanded, “My soul, please.”

            My eyes widened and I threw my hands out as if to show I was empty-handed. Shaking my head I apologized, “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.”       

            He reached for me and before I could take a cautious step backwards his fingertips grazed my face; the soft blue glow dissipated like smoke and then settled back upon him. “My soul, please.”

            I raked my hood back and pulled down the cloth covering my mouth. “I have a lot of souls that don’t belong to me but yours is not one of them.” Raising my own fingers to my face, I felt where the cold of his touch lingered.

            The ghost looked pathetic. The robes he wore hung loosely off of his body. His eyes were sunken in with age, wrinkles cut in deep around his mouth and his eyes. All I could gather from his face was absolute need—the pleading look on his face almost made me feel pity. But not quite. Touching his own face, his fingers arched and scraped down his spectral cheek. His ethereal digits left behind white, smoky lines on his face before floating away. “You don’t, do you? But you were here. I feel you in the wall.” Motioning to the wall, he continued, “Etched yourself into the words of the dragons.”

            It finally clicked. “Zahkriisos.” I considered him further. “I have to say I usually don’t come back to mourn over the remains of any of your brothers but I’m quite regretting it now.”

            The only response he gave was a solemn nod before explaining further. “My soul.” He touched his face again and another piece fell into place.

            “These masks,” I pulled out the mask that had belonged to Volsung, the one I most wore frequently. “They’re phylacteries. The masks contain the souls of the dragon priests. The dragons promised you life eternal.” He almost reached out to touch the mask but thought better of it. I smiled evilly. “All that power your masters gave you but you had to first give yourself to Lichdom. Your grand and mighty soul trapped in a mask on this plane that anyone can possess if they have enough power. Like a Dragonborn, perhaps?”

            “You are cruel.” I could feel a hint of sadness in his voice.

            “I’ve seen cruelty and trust me,” I put the mask back in my pouch, “I’m not it. But this,” I waved my hand at him. “This kind of cruelty was self-inflicted. And ultimately fruitless.”

            “We were promised safety from someone like you,” Zahkriisos explained, “they promised that in return for our service we would have eternal power. Everlasting life as undead—a lich.”

            I could have almost laughed at how ironic the situation was. “But what the dragons failed to mention was that if a dragon hunter could come after them then surely killing you…” I paused. “Sort of killing you, anyway, wouldn’t be a problem.”

            “ _We_ were in power. Until Miraak betrayed us. His treachery was one of the first of many downfalls that led to our demise during the Dragon War. It divided us—he and Vahlok separated the land from the main. It took many of us to restrain Miraak but when Vahlok went to strike the final blow, Hermaeus Mora _saved_ the wretch.”     

            I shook my head vehemently, “That makes no sense.”

            Zahkriisos seemed to become distracted, “My soul, please.”

            While informative, the priest didn’t seem like he was in the mood to share anything else with me. What little anger he had towards me was woefully diminished after thousands of years and even further dampened by the lack of soul now. The thing before me was as close to an empty spirit as I was ever going to meet.

            “Thanks,” I waved as I walked off. “This has been fun.”

* * *

 

            It didn’t surprise me that the celebration had turned even louder and rowdier in the short time I had been gone. My frustration at Teldryn for leaving the book had turned into confusion about the Miraak. When I stepped onto this island months ago, I was under the impression that he was an assassin. Now it seemed that the plot had more turns and twists than I could have anticipated. Trying to shake the thoughts away, I finally decided to join the festivities.

            Walking down toward the main part of the rabble, I noticed Geldis with a tray of sujamma. He yelled at Drovas to get another round when he noticed me.

            “Well, well, well. Everyone in Raven Rock shows up and you have the nerve to arrive fashionably late.” He regarded my armor. “Although not that fashionable. You look like you’re about to rob someone.”

            I stifled a laugh as I grabbed a flagon. “I had an errand I needed to run.”

            He slapped me on the back and someone bumped into me, laughing and giggling. “An errand she says! The mine opens up after almost fifty years and she has _errands!_ ”

            I frowned and shooed him away, “Yes, yes, I get it.”

            Strolling around, I found the Aranos and Morvayn chatting away and sipping at ale. Adril was drinking and ignoring his wife. Crescius and Aphia were joined at the hip, smiling and laughing at everyone that came by and greeted them. Glover was sitting with Fethis, more than likely talking business. Dreyla was obviously taking advantage of her father’s inattention. She and Captain Veleth were sitting close to one another and whispering into each other’s ears. Even Slitter and Mogrul were happily talking to some Dunmer I didn’t know. I had a feeling they would soon be in debt.

            The fire crackled wildly and embers flew up into the night sky, creating an extra pocket of starlight near the glow of Raven Rock’s celebration. The bright light reflected off the yellows and browns and greys, creating a torchlight that was generated by the town itself, showing all of Tamriel that the frontier was alive and well. Someone threw a flower into the fire and it was immediately consumed, its ashes blowing upward to meet its inevitable fate. I was about to take another sip of sujamma when a pair of heavy hands came down on my shoulders. Some of the drink spilt onto my gloves and I cursed.

            “I was wondering when you would decide to join the festivities!” Teldryn leaned down to kiss my cheek and I pushed him away, still wiping the sujamma from the leather.

            I frowned. “I’m beginning to think I should probably leave just as soon as I came. You’re already ruining Glover’s fine work.” I flicked my wrist, trying to get the last few droplets to whisk away. He took one of my gloved hands and kissed the back of it chastely.

            “My _deepest_ apologies,” he laughed as he took another deep swig of his flagon. Turning the flagon over after, he found that it was empty. “Geldis!” he motioned toward us. “More sujamma!”

            I allowed him to wrap his arm around my waist and pull me close. “You’re going to have the mother of all hangovers come morning.”

            This time when he leaned down, I let him kiss my forehead. “Do you always have to walk around covered head to toe? No one will remember what you look like tomorrow.” He chuckled at his own joke. “There’s no possible way.”

            I shrugged and took another long, deep swig. “’I like being covered head to toe.”

            Teldryn smiled wickedly and bent down to whisper something in my ear. Before he could, Glover approached us and cleared his throat. “How’s the armor?”

            I finally grinned. “You came all the way over to ask me how my armor is?”

            “That and to make sure this scoundrel isn’t giving you any problems,” he joked, hitting Teldryn lightly on the shoulder. The only response Glover received was another hearty laugh and something I couldn’t understand.

            I shook my head, letting the grin settle permanently. “If he expects me to play nursemaid in the morning he’s going to be sorely disappointed.”

            Teldryn frowned exaggeratedly. “How cruel of you.”

            I heard the fire crackle behind us loudly and a scream of delight. “I’ll be sure to make liberal use of the hammer and anvil as well. All that pounding will surely be good for you before the sun rises,” I joked. He pulled me closer and kissed my cheek again.

            “Do you see the abuses I have to suffer from this hargraven, Glover?” He gave me a tight squeeze. “Horribly, horribly cruel.”      

            Glover rolled his eyes. “Criminal,” he lightly prodded. I had to laugh at the reference and let him continue, “No, I came over to ask if you wouldn’t mind coming to see me tomorrow about a personal matter.” His eyes darted to the ground and he shifted uncomfortably. “Might just be the alcohol getting to me but I think you can take care of this.” I opened my mouth to ask a question but he finished, “Just a personal favor. Not Guild business.”

            Glancing at him, I playfully rolled my eyes. “Oh, why not? I like running around for you.”

            “Glad to hear it. You two behave now.” He thanked me and waved.

Teldryn turned his attention back to me and smiled widely. “You mind indulging _me_ for a bit?”

            I cocked my mouth to one side and raised an eyebrow. “This already sounds like something I _shouldn’t_ indulge you in.”

            “Oh, come now.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me around people. “If you do, I’ll forget about all those drinks you owe me.” We reached the edge of the celebration, the glow losing its grip on fringes.

            “So, I suppose Crescius was overjoyed when you told him the news,” I diverted. We kept walking further out, the light and noise becoming a faint memory behind us. Teldryn turned a corner and we were on the pier. The waves were fairly calm and whipped against the wood gently.

            “ _Thrilled_ ,” he emphasized. “Haven’t seen anyone that happy in my entire life.” We reached the end of the pier and he sat down, patting the spot next to him. “I won’t bite.” He grinned at that.

            I rolled my eyes and flopped down beside him, the tips of my feet reaching the surface of the water. Pulling my legs out of the water, I tucked them underneath me and asked, “Well, I’ve indulged you. What is it?” I uncovered my face and yanked my gloves off, beginning to rub my hands against the pier. Without warning, Teldryn pulled me close and roughly met my mouth. Despite the strong taste of alcohol on his tongue, I didn’t pull away. Instead my hand reached around to the back of his neck, the other arm supporting me as he leaned in further.

            Teldryn pulled away, a stupid grin on his face. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for it but I’m glad you did.” He leaned backwards and stretched his legs so that he was able to settle his head into my lap.

            “You’re insufferable, are you aware of that?” I looked out at the black sea and absentmindedly ran my fingers through his hair.

            “Very.” He closed his eyes and smiled contentedly. Behind us, a chorus of song broke out. It was melodic but I couldn’t make out any of the words. Teldryn began to hum along with it—his accompaniment a low and deep. Other voices started singing another line of song and the tandem was almost hypnotic.

            “What are you singing?”

            Teldryn looked up at me and stuck out his tongue. “Not for outlanders to know.”

            “Oh, I see. The outlander is good enough to kill your dragons and save your island but not good enough to know your songs.”

            He nodded. “That’s right,” he joked. Then, more seriously he asked, “They still singing the same old boring songs in Skyrim about oppression?” He laughed at the last part a little.

            Shaking my head, I answered, “I’m sure but I only know the words to one song.”

            He beamed a little at that. “A bard? You?”

            I laughed and shoved him lightly. “Don’t be silly. I don’t sing.”

            “You don’t or can’t? Important distinction.”

            “Don’t, can’t and _won’t,_ ” I emphasized.

            “Come now,” he pleaded. “I’m just wild about women with beautiful voices.”

            “Ha,” I snorted. “I really thought it was the ears that did it in for you.” The sea looked a little choppier, but the night sky was still reflected in its folds and movements, shifting around the stars and the faint slivers of Masser and Secunda.

            “I have many weakness. Just the one and I’ll stop bothering you,” Teldryn pressed.

            I sighed. “I doubt it but _fine_. Just the one and then I stop catering to your whims for the night.” I cleared my throat and he stared at me intently, smiling. “I can’t concentrate if you’re going to be a rapt audience.”

            “So fickle,” he complained but relaxed again and closed his eyes.

            This was uncomfortable. I never liked the song once I found out who I was, but people would continue to sing it despite my obvious displeasure.

            “ _Our hero, our hero claims a warrior’s heart; I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes._ ” I coughed, still uncomfortable but continued. My voice seemed to match the harmonies radiating from the golden glow of the fire. “ _With a voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art; believe, believe the Dragonborn comes. It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes; beware, beware the Dragonborn comes. For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows; you'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come._ ”

            I let the last word linger in the air, hoping the night would just abscond with the entire thing. My face was red hot and I felt foolish. “I get tired of hearing that song. Every bard from Windhelm to Markarth sings it at the top of their lungs and every child picks it up just as easily.”

            Teldryn didn’t say anything but continued to lie in my lap. At first I thought he was asleep so I didn’t say anything more. Suddenly he said, “So I have to know…”

            I bit my lip at the possibilities that statement could hold but was still curious. “Alright.”

            He smiled and asked, “You have a lot of men sing that to you while they bed you?”

            I shoved him off my lap and the splash he made when he hit the water was large enough that part of my legs got wet. While Teldryn splashed around wildly, I laughed uncontrollably. One of his hands gained purchase on the pier and scrambled around as if looking for something. A hand hit my ankle and it caught me unawares. I shrieked. When I hit the cold water I gasped. More easily than I expected, my feet found some coast and I discovered I wasn’t in too deep of water.

            Teldryn started laughing and ran his hand through his wet hair. “There. Now we’re even.” He reached for me and held me in a long embrace, the water now sitting at our waists lazily lapping away. “I should probably tell you that you’re sopping wet.”

            I rested my forehead against his cuirass and chuckled. “All I’ve wanted for a few months now is a damned hot bath and I keep ending up getting dunked into cold water. It must be fate telling me I smell bad.”

            “You do,” he agreed but kept me close.

            “I do,” I echoed and sighed. “Let’s go sit by the fire and see if we can at least dry off.”

            “We can have everyone ask us if we fell into the sea,” he suggested.

            “And we can act surprised that we’re dripping from head to toe.”

            Teldryn nodded in mock solemn. “We’ll tell them the ash spawn are now springing from the sea.”

            I laughed. “Don’t do that. Captain Veleth will have his whole battalion under the water stabbing at seaweed.”

            He shook his head. “No, I think he and Dreyla are too occupied otherwise. I’m not sure his mind is on ash spawn at the moment.”

            He helped me up onto the pier and I gave him my arm so that he could pull himself up. We both laid flat on our backs on the wood, letting the ambient sounds fill the silence around us. I reached down and grabbed his hand. Teldryn looked over at me and jokingly asked, “Does this mean you care?”

            I smiled and shook my head. “You’re drunk.”

            Grinning he agreed, “I’m still holding out hope that you’ll nurse me back to health tomorrow.”

            I slapped his leg and balked at the suggestion. “Keep hoping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never understood why the re-opening of Raven Rock's mine didn't cause a bigger fuss in the game. After it reopens, it means that there will be more jobs which means the outpost won't be some withering, dying place. So a party is in order in my humble opinion. And, whoa, more lore and also some of my attempts to tie a lot of things together. The masks are going to come into play in a big way and we're getting closer to some answers. In chapter 13, I alluded to some things to pay attention to (If Rook's so good at magic, why in the world does she not immediately know how Neloth's lift work?). In the coming chapters, I'll probably be pointing to more items of interest.
> 
> Thanks to all the lovely guests who've left kudos and a very special thanks to emeralddragons for their kind and fantastic words. I love hearing from you guys. Thank you!
> 
> Next chapter? More about the masks, a trip to a temple, and--everyone's favorite prick--Neloth. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	31. Phylactery

Untangling myself from Teldryn had been a chore. He was out cold and snoring loudly. I had to clamp my hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh because it was too comical. There was no way he would be up before noon. Before stepping out and closing the door behind me, I took one last look at him and felt a horrible, familiar feeling of affection wash over me. I could have slapped myself. This was ridiculous. My desire to stay in Solstheim after I finished with Miraak was slowly becoming conflicted with the idea that Teldryn was starting to mean something a little more to me than convenient and uncomplicated.

            As I pulled out some alchemical ingredients to start making a fresh supply of health and magicka potions, another thought crept into my mind: Was there anything so wrong with that?

            Of course there was. I learned my lesson about mixing up emotions with a pleasurable business partner when I had fallen hard into love but then Brynjolf decided that I had no part in his life. A deadened part of my heart felt a pang of regret as I recalled how embarrassed I was when I found out he had only been interested in capitalizing on my talent for creating order. I’m sure he had it all figured out the moment he’d met me. The woman who could whip the Dark Brotherhood back into a frenzied force to be reckoned with could surely do the same with the Thieves Guild. And, naïvely, I did so.

            Rationally, I _knew_ Teldryn wasn’t the same. He didn’t slather on thick, honeyed words. Nor did he ever string me along, trying to use me to his advantage. I’d had mercenaries try that before. Surprisingly, most Nord mercenaries were fiercely religious—Kodlak had been a prime example. Under the guise of helping me, he had been more interested in securing his own position in Sovngarde. I made sure the Companions paid me dearly before I helped the old man.

            I crushed the ingredients into a fine powder, tightly rolling around the pestle. My hand cramped. Despite that I kept going. My fingers arched and pushed downward; another hand grabbed an alembic, poured a thick glop of an unreactive solvent into the powder. Bending down to smell the concoction, my nose scrunched and I recoiled from the mortar. I dipped a finger into the hot mixture and brought it to my tongue. Frowning, I realized that my concentration wasn’t quite up to the task of paying attention to alchemy. Resigned, I threw in some salt and had to settle for a restoration fortification potion for the time being. I left it to cool down.

            I resolved to draw up the hot bath that I had longed for. Soon it would be Evening Star and then it would be too cold to consider something like that regularly. Solstheim, for all its similarities to Skyrim, was actually quite mild during Sun’s Dusk. I was silently thankful for the store of water the Ulen’s kept in a storage room. Inside there was also a fairly expensive looking tub; I didn’t even bother dragging it out into the main living area. The water was stored in jars with spigots so all I had to do was move the tub so that the water would run straight into it.

            Initially, some droplets hit the floor but as it filled all that remained was the sound of water. I heated the tub with a stream of fire—another benefit to knowing a bit of magic. Mages at the College were even cleverer at times. I once saw a student rig up a system so that a wash tub was self-heating by enchanting the container with fire salts. To this day I had never been as clean as I’d been bathing in there. Unfortunately, there was always the risk of something catching fire which is why I only risked heating water in my own home.

            Yanking the loose shirt I was wearing over my head, my hair bounded down my bare back. Before stepping in, I shimmied out of my smalls. When my foot hit the scalding water I almost yanked back but forged ahead. I lowered myself in and let the too hot temperature turn my skin bright red—a stark contrast between the pale skin that the water couldn’t reach. Sinking in further, painful pricks rose to meet the unaffected areas. I took a deep breath and immersed myself completely. My dark hair fanned out around my shoulders. My arms moved to reach my neck and I threaded my fingers through sections, untangling small knots here and there.

            I hung over the edge of the wash tub and hair clung to every angle of my face, neck and shoulders. Ungracefully, I wrung out my hair—pulling and tugging so that little water was left. I stayed that way for a while, watching the dirt float off of me in waves. Once I was satisfied that I was as clean I was going to get, I stepped out. Heavy wet footprints were left in my wake as I plodded and sloshed to sit in front of the fire. A thick pelt lay hung on a rack nearby so I grabbed it and swaddled myself in its warmth.

            My eyes wouldn’t move from the flames and the brightness began to hurt them after a while. I blinked and felt myself involuntarily tearing up. I wiped the moisture from my eyes. Try as I might, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my mind from wandering from Miraak or to my thoughts about what I couldn’t remember or my madness. I mindlessly ran my fingers through my hair. Sections of it twisted their way between the digits sliding back and forth.

            I wasn’t sure where to go from here. Returning the map back to the Skaal blacksmith was _something_ to do but it wasn’t exactly what I would call productive. Also, I could pick up the Black Book I’d left behind. But what I really _needed_ was someone to help me piece together what it was I was missing. Zahkriisos had been so close to telling me something but all I had gotten from him, albeit unexpected, was the knowledge that Hermaeus Mora had saved Miraak from his inevitable death. The thoughts all mixed together and after a while I couldn’t really discern what I was thinking about. The fire was lulling me into a comfortable trance and I allowed it to do so.

            _What will you burn? What will you spare?_

            At times it angered me that Paarthurnax thought he could ask those questions of me.

            “Easy for you to ask.” I had kicked some snow absentmindedly and leaned against the word wall. “You were revered. Worshipped. Whole nations trembled under your might.” Another kick at the snow. “A _dragon_ ,” I pointed out.

            The old dragon had regarded me carefully before answering, “ _Suleyk._ Without action and choice, power is inert. You have power as all _dov_ do.”

            Regarding the flames now I whispered to myself the answer I had given him, “Then I must act and make a choice. Burn what I must and spare what I can.”

            I reasoned that if Teldryn was still asleep so was half the town. A mad idea overcame me with the thought that not the _entire_ town would have seen debauchery as a proper celebration: the main temple. Sighing at the thought of visiting one, I slipped on my new armor and climbed the steps out to see if a talk with the local elder would clear my head. Walking through town, I began to regret my decision.

            The streets were littered with bottles and dead flowers. The dark remnants of the bonfire lay dead and I thought I could see a person or two sleeping in corners behind some houses. A few Redoran guard were posted, but I couldn’t be sure that they weren’t fast asleep in their armor as well. If I had not witnessed the celebration last night, one could not have convinced me that Raven Rock was _not_ an abandoned settlement. The only sound I could hear was the sea and a few scattered birds soaring high in the sky. Even climbing the steps to the upper levels of Raven Rock felt like a sacred pilgrimage than an outing about town—the only sense of desertion that rivaled this was when I had to travel deep into old Nord barrows.

            When I opened the door to the temple, the feeling didn’t go away. The only difference was the reverence that lay thick in the walls. An older Dunmer was pacing, seemingly lost in thought. His long thin face was framed in thin, wispy white hair and his mouth was set in a somewhat pensive purse. As he walked to and fro his thick ornate robes swished around his legs. I took another step closer and he looked up, as if finally noticing my presence.

            “Ah, the outlander,” the Dunmer addressed me and continued, “I should say I’m quite surprised to find you in our place of worship. What brings you here?”

            I shook my head. “I’m actually not quite sure.”

            He frowned. “I’m Elder Othreloth, priest of this temple. I have dedicated my life to the teachings of the Reclamations and the True Tribunal.”

            I raised an eyebrow. When Teldryn had told me of the false Tribunal, I hadn’t bothered asking about the “true” one. “Not Sotha Sil, Almalexia, and Vivec.”

            He looked as if I had punched him in the gut. “We do _not_ speak of those names in reverence here.”

            Raising my hands in defense I clarified, “No, no. I don’t follow… whoever those three are.” I laughed dryly. “I have enough problems with Aedra and Daedra pulling me around. I don’t need to add worship of dead Dunmers to that.”

            That seemed to lighten Othreloth’s severe looking face. “Ah, and, if I might ask _which_ Daedra?”

            I shrugged. “It’s a little complicated.” And with that his face went right back to a less approving stare.

            “The _True_ Tribunal are the Reclamations: Azura, Mephala, and Boethiah. They were not Anticipations of the ones that blinded and led astray our people—that continue to do so—but rather they have continued to guide us, even after we became Dunmer. Azura taught the Chimer how to be different from the Altmer; Mephala taught them to evade and kill; Boethiah—”

            I could already see where this was going. “ _I am alive because that one is dead. I exist because I have the will to do so_.”

            Othreloth’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped open slightly. “My, an outlander who serves one of the Tribunal.”

            I began to wander around, aimlessly searching and taking in the main portion of the temple. I picked up a small ash yam and turned it in my hands, “All three to a degree actually.” Brushing off the yam, I continued, “Boethiah taught me how to kill to beyond survival; Mephala how to always see deceit and how to deceive others when need be.”

            The priest began to smile and chuckled a little. “And the prince Azura?”

            I frowned and placed the ash yam back from where I took it. “Azura was… pleased enough with my work.” I noticed some shrines placed around in a corner and walked over to one, noticing the plethora of offerings around it. On the shrine was some kind of abstract drawing but I could only make out a star. A shrine to the prince of dawn and dusk. “Azura felt that my calling was better heard in the shadows. Her exact advice was ‘the light will accept you but the night will take you whole. Step into the dusk and obscure yourself.’”

            When I didn’t get a response from him, I knelt down and observed the offerings more closely. Laughing to myself I commented, “I don’t align myself with powers that would desire my destruction. The Daedra may harm those who serve them but it’s only because they are like children at times. When you’re willing to forgive the minor grievances then you’ll find they have much to give you in return, much like a child. Of course, some transgressions are beyond the actions of children,” I added, thinking of Mehrunes Dagon and the Oblivion Crisis.

            Othreloth smiled widely and knelt beside me, re-lighting a candle that was quickly losing life. “An outlander who fully appreciates the wisdom and guidance of the True Tribunal.”

            I snorted in reply. “Don’t get too excited.” Watching the votive candles softly cast shadows onto the wall, I could see Othreloth arrange some of the offerings so that there was more space. “I’ve been known to serve more than those three when it benefited me.” It would be best not to mention Hermaeus Mora.

            “You are bold and foolish to invoke such names so wantonly,” he scoffed and then frowned again. “Just like the people of Raven Rock. They can celebrate but forget the summoning days of Boethiah and Mephala.”

            “You should see how I talk to the gods,” I half-joked. “Would you mind leaving me?”

            Othreloth nodded and stood up, leaving me to meditate on the shrine. As I moved from shrine to shrine, I could feel him watching me. It was a little unnerving. If he had taken me seriously, I’m sure he would have wished to transcribe my entire experience with all of them. Despite the presence of Daedra worship, it wasn’t helping me greatly. Standing up I thanked the priest and the look on his face as I left was one that told me he wasn’t quite satisfied with how I’d left things. I had to admit, it was a little strange to find a larger following of some Daedra on Morrowind. It did seem that the Daedra were more interested in Mer and Beast than Men. Men seemed to be more inclined to the Eight or Nine.

            “The Eights, Nines, and Tens,” I muttered.

            I wasn’t going to bother Glover and I was certain that if I walked into The Retching Netch, Geldis and Drovas would be too busy with cleaning up whatever mess had been unleashed in that small space. All I could do was return home and see if I could make any further progress. When I found a comfortable space, I grabbed all the books I had collected and the two masks I had with me. I had no idea where Teldryn might have stored Zahkriisos’ so I immediately delved into what I had.

            The two masks looked like nothing special—they both glowed slightly but they didn’t feel like anything but regular enchantments. I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration. They were obviously charms that held the power to contain someone’s soul. Phylactery magic was nothing but a powerful enchantment. _Of course_ my problems on Solstheim would be related to enchanting—one of the few schools of magic I was absolute shit at. But that didn’t mean that I couldn’t make some educated guesses. Enchanting only worked with some portion of a soul; powerful ones like the priests’ masks could probably defy time and space.

            I shook my head. “Not probably. _Definitely_.” Running a finger over the Volsung mask, I remembered something important. “Konahrik.” A mask _without_ a soul but somehow used the power of the other masks to come into being. But another dragon priest mask came to mind: Hevnoraak. The mask of Hevnoraak bore too many similarities to Miraak—a priest who used mind control to enthrall others and wished to return to this plane. It felt too much like the same basic story with some details mixed around. A mutable tale that was left in a constant state of flux. Much like—

            I slammed my fist against the table and a book fell over. “The gods damned Daedra!” Laughing in joy, I rushed to where Teldryn still lay sleeping and shoved him roughly.

            “Mercenary, wake up!”

            All I got in response was a groan and his hand swiping at me with no control behind it. He rolled over and threw the covers over his head.

            “ _Teldryn_ ,” I tried again. “I know your state of inebriation has left you in less than a perfect condition but I need you.”

            At that he turned back over and gave me a wary look. His eyes were redder than usual and dark grey circles widely ringed them. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and growled, “There is no amount of coin that is going to get me out of this bed.” Teldryn shifted again. “And would you keep it _down_? Unless you’ve got something for this splitting headache I have.”

            I sighed and lowered my voice, “I’d apologize but I can’t feel any sympathy for you.”

            Realizing that I wasn’t going to leave him be any time soon, Teldryn propped himself up by his elbows and tried to sit up. The grimace on his face coupled with the slow roll of a finger against his temple made me feel a little more sympathetic. I emphasized, “I’m a lot of things but apothecary isn’t one of them.”

He shot a nasty look at me.

My good mood was quickly disappearing; the smile on my face started to shift downward. “Don’t be like that.”

            Teldryn slapped his hand against his eyes and rubbed hard. “I would ask what it is you want—“

            “What I _need_ ,” I corrected.

            He peered at me through his hand and squinted. “ _But_ ,” he went on, “I don’t even care to know how it is you’re bounding about at this early hour and ready to take on…” he rolled his other wrist carelessly. “…whatever it is you’re wanting me to help with right now.”

            I swung my legs onto the bed and shifted closer to him. “This is your fault to be fair.”

            Teldryn’s hands fell to his lap and his eyes widened as he glared at me. “ _My_ fault?

            I closed my eyes and pointed an index finger upward. In a mockingly singsong voice, I explained, “If you hadn’t left my book in the mine then I wouldn’t have had a pleasant conversation with Zahkriisos’ ghost.”

            He groaned and threw an arm over me, bringing my entire body close to his. “ _Why_ must you do this to _me_? What did I ever do to you?” He gave me a tight squeeze and kissed the bare part of my arm.

            “You left _my_ book.”

            “You mean _the_ book. I was under the impression that it really belonged to a prince.” I smiled widely at his comment and he groaned again, “Aaaand just like that, you’ve got me wrapped up in whatever it was I _didn’t_ want to be involved with.” With that he threw his hands up and shook his head in a way that minimized how much his head moved. “No. No, no, no—”

            I moved in close and laid my hands on his bare chest. “Oh, come now, you haven’t even heard what I’ve had to say.”

            “ _No_ ,” Teldryn took my hands in his. “I want to _sleep_. Do you even know what that is?”

            I shook my head, disagreeing with him, “I’ll pay you of course. _Handsomely_.”

            “It’s like you don’t listen to me on purpose. _No. Amount. Of. Coin_ ,” he drew out each word slowly and deliberately.

            I flattened my mouth into a straight line but didn’t pull away from him. His mouth was cocked to one side and his brow raised in question. “ _Fine_ ,” I relented and settled into the crook of his arm.

            I didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling from ear to ear. “Finally. I thought I was going to have to keep you here against your will.”

            “I’m not taking that bait,” I warned sternly. “You can sleep but I refuse to be dragged down by whatever is in the works here.” I playfully rubbed the side of his scalp, the stubble just a bit overgrown to be considered clean shaven.

            “What bait?” he asked innocently. “I’m exhausted. My head’s killing me.” Patting my shoulder he added, “Relax. A few more hours of waiting isn’t going to hurt if you _really_ need me to come with you.” Another second passed before he concluded the thought, “Which you _don’t_ by the way. Why you suddenly have a _need_ for a mercenary is beyond me. Or is the Dragonborn not fully capable of running across Solstheim by herself?”

            I glared at him. “If you’re fishing for something here, give it up.”

            Teldryn stretched upwards, his arm leaving my side. He then slid back under the covers and offered, “The only thing I wish you would do is _shut up_. What part of hungover is lost upon you?”

            I chuckled and nudged him a little. “Oh, poor Mer. Can’t handle his alcohol.”

            The look he shot me could have killed a bandit. “I must be the one going mad between the two of us, staying with you on purpose. No wonder no one stays around with you for long,” he joked. Unbuckling my armor, I started shrugging it off. As I stood up to strip off the rest, Teldryn asked, “Taking my advice?”

            I climbed in and curled in close to him. He welcomed me, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “I’ll admit,” I answered. “This isn’t the _worst_ thing in the world.”

            He nuzzled into my neck and hummed happily. “Says the woman who is fated to be a dragon hunter. You’ve got a funny way of expressing yourself.”

            I clasped his hand that was thoughtlessly rubbing the hollow of my neck. Grazing the callouses of his palm, I responded, “There’s the possibility I’m better at killing dragons than welcoming this kind of thing.”

            He didn’t have an answer to that but instead planted a kiss on my shoulder, letting his forehead rest there. A couple of quiet minutes passed before Teldryn said, “My brother is more interested in Dunmer history and traditions than I am. Also had a better head for the different tongues from past ages than I do.”

            “Apparently not too hungover to give me a history lesson,” I grumbled.

            “Shush. Did you know that _mora_ means the forest? Even the Morag Tong derives their name from the forest. My brother once told me that they killed in the name of Mephala, that in the forest all murder, sex, and secrets could be hidden if you wandered in deep enough.”

            I shook my head and laughed a little. “Mephala would be insulted by that comparison. That’s too simple.”

            “I’ve learned not to wonder how you know some things. _That_ being said, he also had ideas about other words in Dunmeris. Endryn was always more of a scholar than I was.”

            Stifling back a chuckle, I asked, “ _Endryn?_ Dunmer have only a few children in their lifetime and they straddle you two together with similar names?”

            “They’re both respectable names, not like you Bretons. No rhyme or reason. Some of them sound sensible like Glover’s but then there’s yours: Elyrrya.”

            I nudged him a little. “My parents were suckers for the _very_ old days. My mother had the unfortunate name of Evelyvyra.”

            Teldryn sounded like he’d winced at the sound of my mother’s name. “Was that even in Common?”

            “Back in the Third Era maybe,” I laughed. “I’m well aware that my name is outdated and flowery. You might also notice I don’t go singing it from the rooftops. But your brother, Endryn, the scholar.”

            “Not really a scholar but more of one than I am,” he explained. “He had the idea that _serjo, sera, and muthsera_ all had their beginnings with the Tribunal, the Anticipations. In Common tongue they all sound like respect but it’s more subtle than that.”

            “Ah,” was all I could really get out. It wasn’t terribly interesting to me and I was feeling the beginnings of sleep overtake me. Stretching out my legs I asked, “Not that I don’t find Dunmer history _fascinating_ but is your point in sight?”

            I felt his sigh on my back. “So impatient. Those words might be far from the Tribunal now, but Endryn always emphasized, ‘ _Sera_ is not _muthsera_ , Teldryn. You toss them around like they can be mixed about but remember: you respect both, but _m’sera_ is the powerful, serious, ruthless one. They are the ones that can break you if they wished but they don’t because you _aren’t worth it_.’”

            Turning over but still in his arms I frowned. “Is that why you call me _m’sera_?”

            His laugh reverberated deeply against my skin. “Those are my brother’s words. I just said they made sense.” Teldryn’s mouth dropped slightly. “And I think I could take you if I was completely honest.”

            Allowing myself to curl in further into his chest I added, “Well you’ve stuck around for about a year now and haven’t gotten killed. That’s got to count for something I suppose.”

            He scoffed but pulled me in closer and slid a hand to cradle my head. “My point was that I think you’re more than powerful, more than capable. _That’s_ why I call you _m’sera_. I’ll admit that I’ve said a lot of naïve and foolish things to you, things I can only imagine you’ve heard thousands of times. But I’m not wrong about this: I can’t say that I would have your kind of resolve or strength.” He cleared his throat before finally adding. “However, even strong people need to be willing to welcome kindness once and a while. Even those who kill dragons.”

            The only thing I said in return was, “I don’t like you hungover. You get too loose-tongued and pensive.” I must have let that hang between us before adding, “I’ve made lots of mistakes.” Bringing a hand down to my chest, I grazed the deep, furrowed scars. “And I paid for all of them in more ways than one.”

* * *

 

            Teldryn looked at all four masks and asked me again, “So what is it you think Neloth can do?”

            “At the very least? Explain what enchantment is holding the souls to the masks.” I flipped through another book, reading. Teldryn was busy eating a large meal, proclaiming his headache all but gone but leaving him starving in its wake. My feet were kicked up onto the table and my chair was leaning back dangerously. Licking my finger, I turned another page and added, “At most, possibly help me understand how to undo and redo the process. Might help with Miraak.”

            I glanced over the book to watch him stuff a large portion of bread into his mouth and then wash it down with a swig of ale. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he asked, “Do you make a habit of staring at people while they’re eating?”

            Returning to my book I flipped the next page my finger was resting on. “Sorry,” I honestly apologized. “Lost in thought.”

            He stopped eating to glance at me suspiciously. “Your experiences with getting lost in thought aren’t exactly benign.”

            I continued to read and flipped my wrist, waving my hand dismissively toward him. “I’m fine right now.”

            His gaze didn’t waver. “Yes, _miraculous_ at how often you are now.”

            I slammed the book shut and swung my legs from the table. “ _Teldryn_. Trust I have it under control but I would rather _not_ discuss how.” My own gaze met his and I set my face in stone. Dunmer weren’t exactly the easiest of Mer to out-stare. All Mer to a degree seemed a little severe but the monikers of dark and cursed certainly belonged to the Dunmer. Even Teldryn’s light, easy attitude seemed strange at times aligned with the sharp angles of his nose and ears and the deep furrow of his brow. Now though? I fully believed that Teldryn knew how to properly scowl like most Dunmer I knew. For once I caved, not having the strength to deal with something so petty.

            “I’m scared,” I offered him. “And because I’m _scared_ , something that I am _loathe_ to admit, I would rather _not_ discuss it.”

            His face visibly softened and I thought for the briefest of moments that he would say something but all he did was give me curt, understanding nod. Picking the book back up, I opened it to where I had left off and continued, “If these priests had their souls attached to the masks then Miraak would have had the same happen to him. The reason I think it’s important is because I’ve seen this before—just not to the scale that Miraak has taken it.”

            Without looking up I tapped the dark mask beside the one made of corundum. “Hevnoraak,” I explained, “drained the blood from his body, enthralled scores of people, and had hoped to return to this plane. Unfortunately for him, some Nord stopped the process by binding himself to the priest…” I trailed off, lost in reading a sentence for the tenth time. “ _There_ was a priest who knew something about cruelty.”

            Teldryn picked up the mask and turned it around, searching its crevices for a hint of truth in my words. “And you trust this information? I would think that any other dragon priest on this island would be aligned with Miraak.”

            “Not when he was one of a few factors that led to their downfall,” I pointed out. “Pass me an apple.” I watched him roll me a light red one across the table and I caught it just before it fell off. “And as I’m not exactly good at enchanting, I thought a thousands of years old wizard from the House Telvanni would find this sort of thing child’s play.”

            He considered my words, looking at the masks, and flipping open books only to close them again. I could feel him watching me as well, probably still turning over the thought that I could be scared of something. The thought was laughable. Years ago, I could be spooked by anything. Draugrs were the worst. It was easy to forget that when others saw me—they couldn’t see all the years that had built the foundation on which I stood.

            “Do you think you would be well-received by the Skaal? You did have a hand in… that shaman’s death,” he danced around the thought delicately.

            Closing the book and standing up I answered, “If that blacksmith wants his gods damned map back, they at least have to let me in that far.” I threw the rest of my things in my pouch and complained, “Why are there no horses here? All this walking is ridiculous.”

            At that Teldryn laughed and slapped the table, “ _There_ it is.”

            “ _What?_ ”

            “I knew there was some Nord hiding there. A Man can’t live in Skyrim all their life without having some of it rub off.”

            “If being a Man means enjoying the convenience of sparing my feet, then your pointy-eared ancestors be damned.”

            “You’ve obviously never seen a silt strider before.”

* * *

 

            I stepped backwards as a type of fear I hadn’t felt in a while washed over me. Teldryn started laughing and steadied me with his hand. The Dunmer sitting by the campfire joined in with him.

            “Well, _sera_ , from the look on your face I’m guessing you’ve never seen a silt strider before.”

            I looked back up at Teldryn and gasped, “ _That’s_ a silt strider?”

            “Outlanders, eh?” The Dunmer asked Teldryn. He only shook his head in reply, still laughing.

            “Yes, very funny,” I replied. “So what are you doing out here with this… thing?”

            “Name’s Revus Sarvani, trade odds and ends with the locals. This is Dusty; trained her from a larva, but she hasn’t been in traveling condition in quite some time now. Just insists on staying here. Most people just want a glimpse of her and I just want to make sure she passes in peace. Silt striders are pretty rare now.”

            Cautiously, I strode over to the short bridge but refused to step onto the giant creature. It made a sort of low, humming sound that wasn’t discernible unless I was close. Looking down to where its feet met the ground, I estimated that it must have been at least sixty feet tall. There were impossibly many legs supporting a bulky body and it looked like the shell of the creature had been cut away to make a sort of passenger hold. I stepped back just as slowly as I had come.

            I looked at both Teldryn and Revus and shook my head vehemently. “No. I want nothing to do with it.”

            Revus frowned, “What a horrible thing to say about poor Dusty.”

            I scrunched my nose and crossed my arms. “No offense to Dusty but it doesn’t sit well with me.” I continued walking downhill, past Revus and toward Tel Mithryn. Bending my knees so I could stay balanced, ash kicked up around me. Glover’s armor was even worse at keeping out ash than my Nightingale set was. Teldryn was close behind me, poorly attempting to stifle some laughter.

            “I wish I could have seen your face! Big, fierce Dragonborn frightened of a little silt strider.”

            I turned around and carefully walked backwards, my arms out wide. “ _Little_? Are you blind? All it needs is wings and the ability to breathe fire and it would be a dragon. Something that innocent looking that large?” Pivoting back on my heel in the ash, I threw up my hands. “Nope, don’t trust it.”

            As we made our way to Neloth’s lab, I noticed that Tel Mithryn seemed especially empty. Talvas wasn’t out practicing his conjuration and Varona couldn’t be found.  Even walking up to the doorway, it just seemed a little too quiet for my tastes. Floating up toward Neloth only confirmed my suspicions. As soon as he spied me, his head snapped up from what he was working on and a wicked smile grew on his face.

            “Oh good. I’m hungry. Some apple cabbage stew and canis root tea,” he commanded. Don’t over-steep it either or you’ll ruin it.”

            I glanced around me but found no one. “Did you just order me to cook your meal?” Teldryn floated upward and fell into step beside me.

            Neloth pointed toward him and explained, “I’d ask that ruffian but he’s likely to mess something up.”

            Before Teldryn could open his mouth, I threw out my arm and stayed him. Neloth slammed the book shut and glared at me, as if waiting for me to hop to it and get his food. Rolling my eyes, I sighed, “Why don’t _you_ just make your tea? I’m not your servant. And this,” I jerked my thumb toward Teldryn, “is _my_ mercenary. Doesn’t lift a finger without my say so.”

            Teldryn bent down toward me and whispered, “ _Yours?_ Adorable. We should—”

I lifted a hand. “Quiet.”

            Neloth sneered, “I don’t make my own tea. Others make it _for_ me, a master wizard of the House Telvanni. Would you like that I ask you nicely?” He batted his eyes mockingly and raised the pitch of his voice. “Please, oh Hero of Skyrim, _go fetch my tea_.”

            Groaning I uncovered my head and face. “Neloth, I’m not getting you your tea or _anything_ else. Where’s Varona? Talvas?”

            “Varona is dead and Talvas is out finding me a new steward in Raven Rock. I sent out Elynea to fix the tower that’s withering. They’ve left me here alone to deal with the ash spawn that keep popping up around Tel Mithryn.” He flicked a hand in the air. “Useless, the lot of them.”

            That was a lot to take in. Before I could say anything else, however, Neloth stomped over to me and grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. “What is the meaning of this?” As if ignoring me, he shoved me over to a nearby chair and pushed me down. “Hey!”

            Neloth’s cold, bony hand clamped over my mouth, silencing me. “Shut up, girl. My, you are a mouthy one.” I kept quiet and his other hand prodded at my cheeks, painfully pulled down my eyelids and yanked at the corners of my mouth.

            “Umph! Shop ooing dat!” I swatted at him and tried to back away. He pulled back and sneered at me, crossing his arms.

            “Well, you seem fine enough to talk back to me,” he scoffed. “But none the worse for wear. Unfortunately. It’s a shame you aren’t deteriorating at a more rapid rate; I could keep you here and study your condition.”

            I almost slapped him but instead took a deep breath. “Yes, how unfortunate. Sounds like you’ve been busy.” Rubbing the parts of my face that his fingers had dug into I shrugged. “But what’s a few ash spawn to a _great Telvanni wizard_?”

            I thought I heard Teldryn cough but Neloth regarded at me carefully. “I have other, more important things to be doing here.”

            “Like enchanting?” I suggested helpfully.

            “Yes, like—” he stopped mid-thought and squinted at me. “ _What_ do you want?”

            I smiled widely and held up my hands in front of me. “Me? Just a little help is all.”

            Neloth went back to what he was reading and I stood up, following him. “Hmmm. Well…” he mused but his eyes never left the book. Looking back, I could see Teldryn wandering around and looking at the bookcases and tables but not touching any of it. I tried ignoring the way he took easy steps and how they caused his hips to move. A hot blush creeped along my neck and I quickly turned my attention back to Neloth.

            “Well, what?” I asked.

            Still not looking up at me he answered, “ _If_ I could at least get the ash spawn problem under control then I would be willing to listen to your petty problems.”

            I snorted. “Seriously? Just the ash spawn? If it’s anything like what Captain Veleth had to deal with, then I doubt you’ll be waiting long.”

            Neloth finally looked up at me. “They had these problems in Raven Rock?”

            I shrugged. “A few months ago. Turned out it was some undead Imperial controlling the spawn. But this thing I’d like you to look at…” as I was grabbing the masks from my pouch, Neloth caught my arm. “…oh, _what?_ ”

            “There are too many coincidences. Varona’s death, the tower failing, the ash spawn. I have many enemies, scores on Morrowind. But this smells of the doings of someone on Solstheim.”

            Groaning, I slapped my hand to my forehead. “You’re paranoid. This probably isn’t about you.” This was going in a direction I didn’t like. Of course, I couldn’t come to Tel Mithryn and _not_ be pulled into something stupid like Neloth’s rampant narcissism.

            Slamming a hand down on the table, he yelled at me, “Of course it is, you fool! I’ve even been attacked by dragons!”

            “I’m one hundred percent sure the dragons aren’t _after you_ ,” I yelled back. “In case you haven’t forgotten, there’s a long dead _dragon priest_ who is plotting his return back to Mundus.”  I had an idea, realizing that there was something I had found at Fort Frostmoth that had mentioned vengeance. “ _Here_ ,” I yanked the journal from my pouch and threw it at the table.

            Neloth didn’t even answer me, snatching the tattered journal. His spindly fingers flipped through the pages at a rapid pace. There was some bemused _hmm_ ing and a nod here and there. Looking up at me he frowned. “And you said this was in the possession of a dead Imperial?”

            “Undead,” I corrected. Leaning on the table beside me, I yawned. Neloth wasn’t making this easy and it was killing my good mood—the ambition I that had driven me here was dwindling away.

            “My, my, my…” He went on, “This sounds quite like an experiment I was conducting some years ago with my former apprentice. But, it’s impossible…”

            “Neloth?”  I asked, “Not that this isn’t interesting, but I am working on a little thing called _saving this island_.”

            He waved a hand at me and snorted. “No one’s asking you to do that. However, I do know of something you can do for _me_.”          

            Teldryn appeared by my side, one arm resting on the hilt of his sword and the other lazily hanging by his side. I didn’t answer Neloth immediately, afraid of the suggestion. “Can I at least get you to look at these masks before we leave?”

            Neloth responded, “ _If_ what I think turns out to be true, then yes.”

            “And what _exactly_ are you afraid of?” interjected Teldryn mockingly.

            “Not that you would understand the complexity,” he shot at Teldryn and then glanced back at me, “I think that this might be the work of Ildari Sarothril. I have this theory that heart stones can be implanted into someone’s chest to grant them great power. I would have replaced my own heart but Ildari offered to have her own heart replaced first.”

            I clutched at my own heart involuntarily. “And she’s after you to get revenge for…?”

            “Annoyingly, she died,” he said off-handedly. “I know now that I did the surgery all wrong.”

            “And now annoyingly she lives?” I supplied.

            “The heart stone must have kept her on the edge of life and death. Could it be though? Could Ildari be my nemesis?” he was now completely lost in thought, talking to himself more than to us. He paced around for a moment or two before addressing me, “One moment while I cast a more specific divination.”    

            Neloth walked to a larger area, allowing the spell he was casting to spread wide. A thick glow bloomed from his core while a thinner, more tenuous glow strung along brightly across his hands. He shouted out an incantation, calling out to something I couldn’t see. Teldryn nudged me and leaned over close to me.

            “What have you dragged us into?” he whispered jokingly.

            “Gods if I know,” I complained but moved over a little closer to him. “I thought he’d be _thrilled_ to have a batch full of enchanted masks that contain the souls of men who pledged service to dragons in the Mythic Era. Color me surprised if he’s hung up on an undead apprentice.”

            “Oh, good,” he conceded. “I was hoping it wasn’t going to be boring. You know how I hate things that are beneath me.”

            “Unless it’s me?” I offered.

            It took Teldryn a moment to realize what I had done and laughed loudly, slapping me on the back. “Damn me! That was _good_.”

            I grinned and waved him off. “Just beating you to the punch. Some of us get tired of your worn out jabs.”

            He smiled and his voice had a mock tone of hurt in it, “I’ll have you know I was beloved by all my patrons.”

            “So beloved they left you sitting on Solstheim for years,” I threw back playfully.

            “What a low blow,” he laughed. “There was this one time I was under the patronage of an Orc. There’s a possibility that—”

            Neloth coughed loudly. “If you two are _finished_.” Under his breath I heard him mutter, “By gods it’s like dealing with children.” Louder he continued, “Ildari lives and she’s hiding in Highpoint Tower.”

            “…aaaand you’ll be paying me by looking at these masks,” I finished for him, grabbing the four I had. “When I return I expect you to be able to tell me what’s going on.”

            Neloth snatched the masks from my hands and immediately rushed over to an area of his lab that was locked away. Without looking back, he waved, “Well then, be sure to bring me back an amusing story of how Ildari died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot going on here. Looks like those flashbacks Rook had helped her figure something out... Also, looks like Teldryn hasn't been oblivious to the fact that Rook's been able to function without shouting Solstheim into the next Era. And she's still keeping HOW she's able to do that a secret. The reference to Hevnoraak is the quest Evil in Waiting in the main Skyrim game. Konahrik's mask is the one you don't have to fight a dragon priest for (you exchange it for the Wooden Mask in Labyrinthian. I've tried to incorporate the canon behind both of these masks into this story and tried to relate it to the Dragonborn DLC. Another point of interest is Teldryn's brother. He comes up quite a bit in RoS for a character who never shows up in this story.
> 
> So, the title of this chapter might be familiar to those of you who enjoy Dragon Age but the word actually has roots in the fantasy genre long before DA. It refers to an object used by a lich to contain its soul and protect it from death. Since at least one dragon priest is referred to as a lich (Hevnoraak), I ran with it. 
> 
> Party is over--time to get back to work! Next chapter? We'll be following the Dragonborn DLC quest "Old Friends" from Teldryn's POV. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	32. Teldryn Interlude X

            My sword ran through the last Morag Tong easily. I stepped through and then swung my blade once more, hilt first, to knock the body backwards. The woman underneath the armor dropped like a stone, her blood beginning to congeal in the ash. Looking behind me, I saw Rook standing lazily against a tree. I wasn’t sure she was even looking in my direction but two flame atronachs were floating around her, looking for any lingering threats.

            “Well,” I called out, my breath a little uneven from the sudden attack. “I didn’t know you were so talented at conjuration.”

            She didn’t answer me. Cleaning off my blade, I noticed that the cloth was beginning to stain with layers of blood. I’d need to buy a new one soon. Stuffing it away, I walked towards her. At first I thought Rook was ignoring me but when I touched her shoulder, she jumped.

            “Gods, Teldryn.” I couldn’t see her face but she sounded spooked. Shaking her head, one of her hands waved my arm away. “Give me some warning next time.”

            I frowned as she shoved past me and continued trudging toward Highpoint Tower—we were about halfway there by my guess. Sighing, I followed close behind. Her atronachs floated from us, checking the rest of the area. My feet dug into the thick ash, heels sinking into each step uphill. Staying quiet when Rook got like this was difficult. We had been chatting amicably when suddenly she went silent. I only had to ask once if everything was alright before realizing that it was fruitless. Any other attempt at penetrating whatever shroud had clouded her thoughts had been met with rude curtness. Her selfishness at times was more than a little infuriating. I could tolerate the secrecy but Rook’s lack of trust in me at times was insulting.

            Unexpectedly I heard her say, “Wait.” She had stopped and was digging around for something.

            “What’s wrong?” My heart skipped a beat when I saw her extract a Black Book. “Wait. What do we need that for?”

            I thought I saw her shake her head. “You’re paid. That means you don’t move unless I tell you to.” Rook sounded more than a little morose.

            Crossing the few steps I was behind, I tried grabbing her arm before she started reading but was just a moment too late. “Gods damn it all,” I groaned. The two flaming atronachs floated around the almost-Rook, her half-here form being illuminated by the light. One of them must have heard something because it quickly swung around and made its way across some rocks. Its twin followed. I paid no attention to whatever they might have seen and instead found a nearby jutting rock to rest upon.

            Yanking my helm off, I threw it into the ground and my arms fell to my legs. As I ran a hand down my face, the impulse to just abandon Rook and head back to Raven Rock was only beaten down by the fact she had already paid me. That and I was beginning to feel more than a little enamored with her. Unfortunately, I had enjoyed being around her lately beyond being paid and that was an unwelcome feeling. She had already made herself quite clear. Any other man or woman I would have believed was just trying to lead me on or making me work a little more for their affection. I trusted that when Rook said certain things, she meant them. I could cut off my own arm and say, “Look at how earnest I am!” and the only thing she would give me in return would be an admonishment. _Now how are you of any use to me?_ I could imagine her saying.

            Why in Oblivion had she used that book? Reasoning aside, one thing was for certain: she was gone for now. Not sure how long this trip would be for her this time around, I decided to make camp for the night. I gathered firewood, hauling in enough tinder so that I could stay by the fire for a couple of hours uninterrupted. From afar I saw a bright glow dissipate along a jagged line of rocks—the atronachs had exhausted their time on this plane. Setting a fire to the wood, the campfire came alive and I settled beside it. Stretching out, I reached for my discarded helm and dusted it off.

            “You know,” I called out to her knowing she couldn’t hear me. “I’ve had lots of other problems with men and women but not to this extent.” Absentmindedly, I took out my brush and dug into the crevices of my helm, dislodging a fresh clump of ash. “One man thought I wanted to marry him and another woman told me she was carrying my child—which she wasn’t, by the way. I thought for _certain_ those would really be the worst of my problems. But _you_ ,” I grunted as I dug in harder and scrubbed. “I don’t understand you. You’ll lay with me quick as you please but I can’t strangle anything important out of you.”

            Looking back up at her, I added, “Not that I’m complaining about being in bed with you because the other morning,” I started laughing, “I have _never_ had a woman who—” I felt my pulse quicken over the memory and I shook my head, frowning. “ _No_ , I am irritated with you. I’m left sitting here for gods only knows how long and we’re _still_ not finished out here once you come back.”

            My stomach growled painfully. Rolling my eyes I stood up and took one last look at her before I went hunting for something to eat. “And don’t you think I’m going to share anything I kill with you.”

* * *

 

            It had been blessedly quiet in the hours I had been left to sit alone. The makeshift spit I had made held the remains of some ash hopper legs I had cooked. After eating the largest portion of the thorax meat, there were a lot of leftover parts. Not being much of an alchemist, I never cared about collecting ingredients; however, my boredom drove me to collect the jelly from the innards and break apart the largest parts of its exoskeleton for chitin plates. Those would prove useful for patch jobs at most. That only occupied a short period of time so I was left to polishing my weapons and my armor a piece at a time. As I dragged a cloth over my blade for the seventh time, I heard a thud and some loud coughing. My head snapped upwards and I saw Rook falling to her knees, ash swirling around her.

            I shot up and watched as she ripped off her face coverings, yanked back her hair, and vomited blood. My heart stopped. No matter how powerful she was, that wasn’t a good sign. She kept heaving violently, one hand holding back her hair and another clutching her abdomen. Kneeling down beside her, I took her hair from her and rubbed her back.

            “Well,” I tried to get in between her coughing. My voice cracked as I tried to be light-hearted, “I would ask how your trip went but—”

            “Don’t,” she was able to get out weakly. A few more heaves and the vomiting stopped, replaced by heavy breathing and shaking. I reached to gather a few loose strands of her hair and used my other arm to wrap around the front of her, just below her neck. Trying to ignore the blood rolling around in the ash was impossible. Thick, it was dotted with even thicker clumps and a dark bile seemed to be mixed in between the red.

            Rook feebly yanked a glove off and raised up her arm to wipe off her mouth with the back of an exposed palm. When she brought it back down, I could see a bright red smear marring her skin.

            I slid my arm underneath one of hers and rose slowly. “C’mon. Let’s not ruin your fine new armor.” She leaned on me as she tried to stay upright. Putting more weight into my support, I half carried her to the fire. I didn’t even get a chance to aid her before she just dropped like a stone onto the ground. I sat beside her and finally got a good look at her face.

In the light of the fire, she looked dead. There was sweat dripping from her brow but her skin looked cold and grey. Rook’s eyes were usually dark but they had a sheen of sickness to them now, glossing over any life in them. Worse yet, her lips were still tinted with dark blood. Not bothering to ask her, I dug out the cleanest cloth I had and folded it over. She didn’t move when I wiped it roughly over her brow and then lips, leaving behind more blood.

“ _B’vek, f’lah_ ,” I gently insulted. “Look at yourself.”

As if finally noticing my actions, she took her tongue and ran it over her bottom lip. “Oh, good,” she whispered, “I was hoping to taste my own sweat.”

“It was either that or have your bloody vomit all over your forehead,” I answered, putting an arm around her. “Although I could accommodate you if you’d like,” I offered, hoping to lighten the mood.

And just like that, Rook burst into tears and buried her face in her hands.

I sat there and stared at her, unsure at what to do. Other women cried. Other men cried. It was easy enough listening to their sorrows, providing a sympathetic ear. Usually that’s all one needed: a pat on the back, a few nods, and some consoling words.

But Rook did not cry. This wasn’t a woman who buried her sorrows in tears. I wasn’t even sure she _had_ sorrows. Anger, frustration, and worries maybe. Watching her like this was disheartening for me in more ways than one. My confusion was mixing with my concern and I acted upon my first impulse. Reaching out, I pulled her in close to me and held her against me. I couldn’t think of anything else to do but even that felt like the wrong course of action. My hands wouldn’t settle in one place. At first, they laid stiffly against her back; then I tried stroking her hair for a spell but it felt contrived. I finally stilled them and let them relax in the dark strands.

All the while, she cried quietly but steadily. I wasn’t even sure she noticed me until she pulled away for a brief moment to complain, “Curse your gods damn armor to Oblivion, you stupid mudcrab-loving fool.” But all the same she settled back into crying into a place on the cuirass that was a little more forgiving than chitin.

“I don’t love mudcrabs,” were all the words I could find and, stupidly, I corrected, “And it’s made of chitin from all sorts of animals.” _Yes, very eloquent._ This was going terribly well. Shutting my mouth, I tried to convince myself that Rook was satisfied with whatever it was I was providing. We stayed like that for a good couple of minutes until she finally seemed to relax. Her back rose and fell evenly. I couldn’t hear anymore crying.

Finally, she pulled away and quickly looked away from me, transfixed on the campfire that was blazing brighter in the twilight. I pulled my knees upward and wrapped my arms around my legs, one hand loosely clutching the opposite wrist. I didn’t trust myself to speak or look at her. Stealing glances from the corner of my eye only told me that she was still gazing into the flames. Time dragged by painfully slow. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought a spell had been cast over the moment, not allowing us to move forward.

Taking a deep breath, I finally asked her, “Why did you read that book? Is your thirst for knowledge so insatiable at this point that you just _can’t_ control yourself?”

Deliberately, Rook shook her head. She continued to stare into the fire.

I sighed. “ _No_ you can’t stop yourself or _no_ everything I said was wrong?”

“No,” her voice cracked, hoarse and weak. A cough preceded the next thought, “It’s not what you think.”

Some frustration from earlier surfaced and I could hear it in my own words, “Well, please, _do_ tell me what to think because I’m at a loss as to why you would subject yourself to this for no reason then.” Rubbing my eyes with the heel of one palm, my mind tried to fill in the blanks that Rook left open. Even though she’d just finished expelling her entire weight in blood, she didn’t seem as affected as I thought she should have been. It was almost as if, while unpleasant, this wasn’t new to her. And then, small things fell into place.

            Even though Neloth told her not to read the books without him, she’d done so without hesitation in the mine. I’d not seen Rook lose herself to madness lately. But there were a few times that she’d refused to tell me where she had been—such as the morning before we left for Raven Rock mine. I’d woken up alone and, when I did see her again, she looked awful. But she’d said something strange, that she felt better afterwards but wouldn’t answer me when I asked after what. I had a feeling that I knew now: after _this_.

The look on her face when she finally did pull her gaze away was one I had seen before on many a man and woman who had shoved their last coin into my hands, begging for power when they had none: desperation. I had never seen her look so mortal before. Trying to divine what was going on, I searched her face and the lines framing her frown and the dark circles under her eyes that seemed darker against the light. Slowly, I realized what she wasn’t telling me.

Rook was staving off the madness by using the Black Books and returning in this state.

“Oh, gods.”

Not a word escaped her lips but she nodded.

A fresh wave of irritation washed over me, more out of selfishness than anything else. “You _stupid_ , stupid—”

Rook’s reflexes were impressive at times, but had the impact of her open palm not hit me squarely in the face, I would not have realized she had even swung at me. Hard. I thought I heard something pop. Not taking my gaze away from hers, I slowly brought a hand to the side of my face she had struck and rubbed the area that was growing hot with pain now. Opening and closing my mouth, I found my jaw stiff. When I attempted to move it to one side, I felt it stop unnaturally. With a quick jerk, I felt it pop back into place. There was going to be some fantastic bruising later.

“ _You_ do _not_ presume to know what I _should_ do,” she spit out through gritted teeth. Whatever had drained her of energy before was long gone and the blazing fire shone against her lively face. “How _dare_ you.”

Rage was too strong of a word to describe the slow, tedious ire that was washing over me. I didn’t respond to her immediately. Instead I let her voice ring out in my memory, allowing the way she was glaring to ignite a spark of anger in me that I encouraged to spread like wildfire. The quiet indignation came to a rolling boil and I allowed it to spill over.

“How dare _me_?” I yelled, shooting up and pointing an accusing finger at her. “You vicious _bitch_.” My mind was a blank save for every time I had to watch her suffer, every second I sat there and worried over her. “Gods forbid you _allow_ me to care about you. Lately I sit waiting for hours with only the prospect of you returning bloody and beaten. And for _some gods be damned reason_ I still take pity on you. Why even bother having me along at all if you’re just going to…”

She bit her lower lip to steady its shaking and her eyes looked like they were welling up with tears again. My heart fell into the deepest pit of my bowels—this morning when she said she needed me to traipse across Solstheim with her, she meant it. This was her way of trusting me, asking me to be there for her because every time she came back from Apocrypha it was killing her slowly each time to return. This was the sizable price Rook was paying in order to retain her sanity on this plane and at some point she wasn’t going to be able to pay the toll to return.

Falling back onto the ground, I buried my head in my hands and mumbled, “ _Why_ couldn’t you just tell me?”

When I looked back up at her, Rook’s face started losing all the color it had temporarily regained. Her eyes appeared painfully red and the usually pale cheeks also had marks of angry irritation streaked where tears had raked across. “Because,” she whispered hoarsely. “ _This_ is not _me._ ”

The fire crackled loudly in the silence that she had left in the wake of her words. I had no understanding of the concept she had just shared. Furthermore, all my words had left me; empty consolations or flattery or witty comebacks or anything else I could have offered all died on my tongue.

I tried reaching out to touch her arm, but she pulled back. This was impossible. _She_ was impossible. All I could do was watch as her eyes didn’t waver from the flickering in front of us. It never failed. Rook would often lose herself watching a fire. I was certain that she would do so for days if the gods allowed it. I considered her and tried to remember the words she often mumbled when lost to the flames.

            “What will you burn?” I tried asking, hoping to elicit a response. “And what will you spare?”

            As quickly as she had pulled away, her attention was on me. The look on her face was one of utter confusion. “Don’t tell me I’ve started talking to myself aloud.”

            The laughter was completely out of place but I couldn’t help myself. It was a moment of clarity and I was relishing my find. “No,” I assured. “I’ve heard you say it before, but I have the distinct feeling that the thought weighs heavy on you always.”

            Surprisingly, Rook didn’t look back into the fire and her face had regained some of its normal color. “This isn’t who I am,” she repeated the sentiment. “Not weak, not reliant on others to get me to my feet.” Shaking her head, she added, “Not foolish enough to feel this way again.”

            Cocking my mouth to one side, I could feel my brow furrow. Stupidly, I asked, “What way?” The look on her face was like watching a child being caught doing something they knew that they ought not. I knew I had asked the wrong question. So as not to impede on my small amount of progress, I threw my hands in front of me and quickly amended, “No, don’t worry. It’s not my business.”

            She opened her mouth to say something and then snapped it shut, her lips tightly pressed together. A moment later and she inched toward me, taking my arm and putting it around herself. I complied and tried not to break the spell—the moment around us becoming quiet and slow. Rook looked upward toward the sky and pointed at the wash of stars above us.

            “What’s your birthsign?”

            I tried so very hard to stave off any more laughter but it proved to be futile because as I was trying to give her a response, fresh peals of laughter rang through the night. She frowned at me and I bit my tongue. Taking a deep breath I attempted to control myself. “I can’t believe you take stock in such things.”

            Shrugging she explained, “I’m trying to take my mind off of serious things.” She tapped a finger on my leg impatiently. Listening to her voice was still a little unnerving; it sounded raw. Her steady breathing against my arm was a little more comforting. “Well?”

            Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to piece it together, I asked, “Isn’t it obvious?”

            “Obvious?”

            “My parents named me _Tel_ dryn.” No response. “ _Tel_ Mithryn?” I offered, trying to give her a hint. She looked back up at me blankly, not a hint of recognition across her face. “You have to be one of the densest outlanders to come across this island. It’s a blessing to all of you that most Dunmer speak Common.” Good-naturedly, I ruffled her hair.

            She pulled my hand from her hair and grumbled. “If I was interested in being a scholar I would have stayed at the College.”

            “You’re hopeless.” I gave her a quick squeeze. “You’ll figure it out. But yours is too easy. The Thief.” She shook her head. “The Shadow then.” Another shake and I frowned. “The Mage?” She laughed at that. “The Lover,” I guessed wildly and she started giggling uncontrollably. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

            “You’re going to go through them all and that’s cheating, _Tel_ dryn,” Rook mocked. A weak smile graced her lips. “Let me sleep if you’re going to be difficult.”

            “After you apologize.”

            She yawned in response. “For what?” I felt her body shift closer into mine and relax. In an act of revenge, I pinched her arm hard and she jumped a little. “Ow, you bastard!  What was _that_ for?”

            “Hitting me,” I curtly explained. “Do you really think I would just let you sneak away with that?”

            A wider smile bloomed and Rook reached up to my face, one hand against my sore cheek and her forehead against the other side of my face. She took in a deep breath and on the exhale a warmth spread across from her palm to my cheek. A soft glow entered into my field of vision. Relief washed over me.

            “You should feel better now.” She didn’t remove her palm or her forehead. “My mouthy, opinionated mercenary.”

            I raised my eyebrows and smiled at her. An outright apology was too much to hope for from her but we had both been angry, said and did things that were wrong. “Yours? I suppose as long as you can pay my price.”  

            “And if I can’t?” I looked down and saw she was half-asleep already, curling in into the crook of my arm.

            “Well, then…” Rubbing her arm, I continued, “I might just stick around anyway.”

            Another yawn and I was certain that Rook had let sleep take her finally. Finally I heard her mumble, “You’re a horrible mercenary.”

* * *

 

            “And that makes two for me!” she yelled from behind as a brilliant explosion of ash erupted near me.

            I groaned. Stepping backwards I swung upward from my elbow and blocked the spear of an ash spawn aiming for my face. When it staggered sideways, I seized the moment to step forward and use the force I had brought upward to bring my sword down again and slice the ash spawn’s malformed head in half. The ash spawn disintegrated into a pile and I threw my arm to my face hoping to avoid breathing in the ash.

            “Whew,” I heard Rook close behind me now. Looking over my shoulder, I saw her waving an arm wide in front of her, attempting to clear out the ash floating about. Nudging me, she asked, “What does that make for you? One?”

            “Two,” I growled and threw up two fingers as if to emphasize my point. “And I believe the rules were _quite_ clear: no conjurations. Which brings you down to _none_ ,” I corrected.

            She yanked back her hood and face coverings. I was pleased to find that she was looking better. We hadn’t discussed whatever had passed during the night—Rook didn’t mention it so I wasn’t going to be the first to broach the topic. If I were in her position, I would highly doubt that discussing my deterioration and impending death would be popular conversation topics.  

Despite the unpleasant grimace on her face, I was unable to contain my own silly grin. “ _None?_ ” Rook threw up her hands in obvious frustration. “I _might_ have that blade from the mine but there’s no possible way for me to use such a thing effectively in combat. You can’t expect me to fight fair when I’m at a disadvantage.”

            I opened the door leading from the outside hallway to the tower. “You’re such a liar. I _know_ for a fact you have a dagger on your person.” As I walked through I waved an admonishing finger at her. “And if you just absolutely refuse to acknowledge you have one, I do know you’re quite capable at using destruction magic.”

            Looking below at the spiral staircase leading down, I wondered just how far the tower was buried. Ash had piled so high that it was now less of a tower and more of a cave. Rook stood beside me, taking a glance down at the staircase as well. “A dagger? Huh.” She scavenged around for a minute and then pulled out the nasty-looking dagger I had seen before. “Well, would you look at that? I was actually wondering where this had gone to.”

            As we began our descent downstairs, she spent some time examining it as if she had forgotten what it had looked like. The blade curved and had flecks of permanent blood stains on the tip. The hilt had a worn looking grip but two wickedly curved crossguards came down to fine points, not quite meeting. “How do you forget where you put your weapons?” I asked incredulously.

            She took a small hop down a couple of steps and swung it to her right. “You really have no idea the size of my weapon collection. Magic is alright but it all gets kept here,” Rook tapped her head with the side of the dagger. There was a small landing and we gave it a cursory glance but found nothing interesting aside from a potion or two. As we continued downward, so did she, “Blades though, have a certain beauty about them. They’re tangible and, honestly, you can’t tell me that felling a man with fire is as satisfying as driving a blade through them.”

            I sorely wished she would stay quiet because each word that spilled easily out of her mouth only made my heart ache a little more—she sounded positively infatuated.  For someone who made sure to let me know that she wanted nothing to do with love, Rook knew how to play on a man’s heartstrings. The strangest feeling overwhelmed me. For the very briefest of moments, I almost blurted my feelings out to her.

            Instead I laughed, “You are absolutely right, I cannot.”

            Satisfied, she sheathed the dagger and cocked a curt smile toward me. “Damn straight you can’t. Now imagine a _dragon_.” Spreading her arms wide, she carelessly hit me with a hand.

            “Yes, I’m aware of the size of those beasts.” I gently shoved the arm downward and her arms fell back into swing with her gait.

            We reached what seemed to be the bottom of the stairs and made our way through the wide, stone tunnel. It was dimly lit by a few torches here and there but still dark in places. Rook sighed when she spied the slew of spider nests ahead of us. I slapped her on the back.

            “Not sure a dagger is going to cut it here though. Might as well just give this win to me,” I advised. I had almost thought that reminding her of the dagger would have put me in the position to lose but there was no way she could take on a pack of eight-legged, flaming, jumping creatures with just that small blade.

            “Hmmm…” she pursed her lips and contorted her mouth in such a way that made it look like she was deep in thought. “No conjurations?”

            Shaking my head, I almost chuckled out, “None.”

            She shrugged and replied, “Alright.” Tossing the dagger in the air, she caught it by the tip and then hurled it at the nearest spider nest. The dagger broke open the sac and all the sacs surrounding it exploded with a wave of flaming spiders. Throwing a hand out to shove me out of the way, she reared back and shouted something that sounded like, “ _YO…TULSHER_!”

            In the close space, the fire had nowhere to travel and instead swirled around, concentrated at the spiders. Another brief second later and the hot, oppressive air cleared leaving the floor littered with spider corpses and charred webbing.

            “Let’s see….” Rook crossed her arms smugly and then used another hand to count out the bodies. “One, two, three, four…”

            If anything she had definitely had the Mer arrogance in her blood. “Alright, you’ve made your point.” I threw up my hands and began walking to the next corridor. “There’s no need to show off.”

            If I hadn’t known she was behind me, I would have thought I was alone. When Rook gushed about Glover’s talents, I had rolled my eyes, thinking her a bit more smitten with his work than necessary. Now indoors, I could see why she had been so impressed with his work. Turning sideways to avoid a well-placed soul gem trap, I climbed up a small set of stairs and extracted it from its setting. I tossed it to her. “So were you always a thief?”

            “Were you always a mercenary?” she snapped at me in reply. It was unexpected, the emotional response to my question. I had never questioned her love for her work but it appeared that things weren’t so simple. Shaking my head, I smiled at the ridiculous thought that the woman behind me would ever be simple.

            My thoughts were interrupted when I heard her summon a weapon. I unsheathed my sword. A quiet moan was coming from ahead. Stepping ahead of me, she loosed an arrow into the head of something I couldn’t quite see. I took a step forward and found the ash spawn waiting, groaning at nothing in particular. Swinging hard I grunted as my sword went clean through the middle and then hit the wall causing small sparks to fly. “Yes,” I answered her although I know she didn’t want an answer.

            Rook came up beside me and peeked around the corner, her body still in the corridor. “I’ve tried mercenary work before.” Her off-hand comment surprised me a little but I didn’t interrupt her thoughts. Stepping into the room, we had to dispatch another ash spawn but that was finished easily enough. Instead of proceeding, she was attracted to a small alcove; there was nothing special about it, just a run of the mill area that had overgrown a bit thanks to some small exposure to the outside. A stream of sunlight poured over the roots crawling along the walls—the plants that grew there were a stark contrast to the dull, colorless ash-filled tower. “Don’t worry,” she consoled. Looking up from the plant she had been petting, I saw her smile, “I was bad at it too.”

            “ _Bad_?” I scoffed. “I don’t think you understand what a mercenary is. I’m absolutely top-notch,” I gloated, meeting her by the ferns, rubble, and some dripping water. I plucked a whole frond from a fern and whisked it gently at her face, the leaflets swaying to and fro like small feathers. “Such a silly girl, admiring these useless plants.”

            Taking a step back, Rook threw a hand upward and her face scrunched up. Still holding her hand to guard against any further actions on my part, she sneezed. “I’ll…” she held up an index finger to indicate she needed another second. “I’ll tolerate that sort of talk from Neloth because he’s horribly old, but I’m a grown woman sixty seasons past.” Snatching the frond from my hand, she brandished it like a quill. “Not a _girl_.” And another sneeze followed the pronouncement. Surprisingly, an unfamiliar yet easy smile spread across her face.

            I chuckled and let the moment pass without comment.

            As we walked out of the room and down into another corridor, I asked, “So you tried your hand at being a mercenary?”

            Something about my question made her laugh loudly. “You could say that.”

            The corridor was beginning to narrow and funnel into another set of rooms. “And you think I’m a bad mercenary.”

            “I did say I wasn’t good at it either,” she consoled. Suddenly, Rook stopped and glanced around. “Do you hear anything?”

            Straining to find the sound she was hearing, I placed a hand to my ear. I could faintly make out a cry. “I do, actually.”

            As we reached the next room, Rook and I cautiously stepped around. She occupied herself looking at an enchanting table. I kept to a close distance. Trying to busy myself, I took stock of a room that was seemingly empty: there was a rune and what looked to be a rickety trap. “Here,” I offered as I picked up a loose rock and threw it onto the rune. A bright flash of light and ash exploded brilliantly and I covered my body with hers, back facing the blast. Both of us turned our heads in opposite directions, coughing violently.

            “Oh, curse you, Teldryn,” Rook moaned when she stopped heaving. “Why in Oblivion did you do that?”

            I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I was trying to—” There was a loud rumble and a wave of boulders crashed down from the trap, rolling around wildly and causing a loud row. “Well, damn me.” Another boulder crashed into the scaffolding of the trap and the entirety of the wooden structure came falling down. The force of the collapse knocked us both into the enchanting table, tipping it over.

            I steadied myself and stood back up. “Runes aren’t usually that powerful,” I mused, less concerned about her complaints than the force of the blow.

            “Hmm.” She looked at the rubble before us, rose, and strolled over the half-covered doorway that led out into another section of the tower. “You’re right. Are you any good with the things?” Her head snapped around to look at me but all I could do was shrug.

            “If I were do you think I’d have done that?” I walked over to her, kicked a piece of small rubble out of the way. “I might be a bad mercenary, according to you, but I’m not an idiot.” My ears perked up at the sound of a louder cry. “It almost sounds like someone’s in here.”

            She swung through the opening, deftly sliding through the opening with her legs through first. Her hand motioned for me to hurry. “My point wasn’t to insult you. Common runes are fairly easy for me to identify. _That_ was not common. Was asking if you’d encountered that sort of thing before.” My own legs were clumsily angling their way through the opening and Rook offered a hand to me but I waved it away. “And when I called you a bad mercenary, it wasn’t an affront to your skills. Mercenaries usually follow the highest bidder. You don’t.”

            Pulling off my helm, I wiped my kerchief across my brow. “I _do_ ,” I insisted.

            And just like that she bridged the gap between us and kissed my cheek. “You _don’t_. What mercenary would be foolish enough to turn down good money to retrieve a set of armor from a blacksmith in order to go traipsing about a mine? Paid by an addled-minded, old fool no less.”         

            My head began shaking in refutation but I knew she was right. As opposed to agreeing with her, I weakly explained, “I knew there would be more gold to be found in addition to what Crescius paid up front.”

            Rook took a few more steps toward the sound of the cries for help but turned her head and flashed me the brightest smile I’d ever seen her give me. “I keep telling you that I was a bad sword for hire as well. The same problem—quite to the disappointment of the Companions—of not letting the money control my actions. I make my own priorities. Question is, why do you?”

We had come to a complete stop and I could tell she wasn’t going to continue until I had answered. Rubbing the back of my neck, she leaned up against the wall of the corridor and crossed her arms. I tapped my foot, stared back at her. The only response she gave me was the raising of her eyebrows and a cocked mouth.

“Why is it,” Rook pressed, “that someone like you ended up sitting on this island for _years_ without lifting a finger and then suddenly you decide to do more than escort Dunmer across Solstheim?” A wide smile curled across her lips.

And I still had no answer for her because I had given the matter no serious thought. Glover’s request just seemed like a favor for her but Crescius had been bothering me for years, begging me to just look at the mine. There had been no real rhyme or reason to my actions. After years of stagnation, I had suddenly decided to pick my sword back up for more than small tasks. But that wasn’t true—it was because of her. The first real job I’d had in years, Rook’s patronage and being with her breathed in new blood into my life. Before I opened my mouth to explain, a louder cry for help persisted.

Without a word, Rook continued onwards to the voice and allowed the question to go unanswered. I followed close behind her, matching her steps. When we rounded the corner, a fire appeared in the cup of her palm. “It looks like a set of cells. Be ready.”

I simply nodded and unsheathed my sword.

It was a small space to our right but there were a set of cells packed into a cramp area. A woman cried out once more and Rook waved the fire out. By the time we had arrived, the Redguard was eagerly holding onto the bars of the door. She looked emaciated, pale for even her dark skin.

“That witch is going to kill me soon, I know it,” she cried to us. “Please, please. Help me!”

By the time my hand went to reach for a lock pick, Rook’s own steadied it to stop me and asked the woman, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“Niyya. That witch put me here.” There were tears streaming down her face; Niyya’s voice sounded cracked, parched for water.

“Ildari?” Rook asked. “What do you know about her?” She didn’t remove her hand from mine.

“W-we were digging in these mines when she found us, badly hurt.” A fresh stream of tears erupted from her. “We t-took pity on her, nursed her back to health.”

She removed her hand and motioned to the door; I quickly set about unlocking it easily. “Well, dear gods. And let me guess, _this_ happened?” The door clicked open and Niyya quickly ran out but still kept talking. “Bet that’s the last time you take pity on a stranger.”

“She attacked us in the middle of the night. If we didn’t die, she made us prisoners.” Niyya looked around forlornly at the seemingly empty cells. I hadn’t noticed it before but there were skeletons in each. “She did… horrible things to us.”

“Oh, say…” Rook lingered. “Rip open your chests and try to replace your hearts with a stone?” That elicited more crying and shivering from the woman as she nodded violently. I fought off the urge to comfort the poor woman, take her in my arms, and let her cry. Rook was acting as if this was something dangerous with the cold precision she was interrogating the Redguard.

“I’m the only one left now.” Niyya glanced at the cells again and tried to steady her own breathing. “But if you find her, don’t make her end quick.”

I nodded less in response than in agreement. Rook gave a curt nod and wished her luck. As Niyya ran off she whispered to me, “If the ash spawn don’t kill her, I’ll be very impressed.” My only response was silence. She hooked her arm into my own and asked, “What’s bothering you?”

Walking back from where we came from, the other corridor led into a larger set of tunnels of the mine. “Nothing.” She conjured a bow and crouched low. I unsheathed my sword and ignited a fire spell in my hand. “Everything.” Another curious look and I had to relent, “You can’t expect me to _not_ be concerned right now.” There was a crackle and Rook drew back an ethereal arrow.

“Fair enough,” was all she gave me before a flurry of fire came at us from the ash spawn that erupted from the dirt beneath us.

I swung wide and dropped low to bring down my sword on the spawn that had staggered near me. Throwing a ball of fire, I ran toward another spawn and thrust forward hard. A voice above us echoed.

“You’ve gone far enough!”

Rook snapped her head toward the sound of the voice coming from a place on the scaffolding high above us. An arrow loosed in the direction of the voice and she was ready to draw back again. The voice boomed again, “Neloth is a _fool_ to think lowlifes like you two can stop me.”

As we ran closer, I noticed a platform ahead. The pit was surrounded by three stone columns, each topped with soul gems in an alcove. Whatever spell Ildari had cast was allowing the ash spawn to regenerate quickly and rush in waves.

“Gods damn!” I heard Rook scream as my sword jabbed into another spawn square in the chest.

“What?” I yelled back at her.

“Ildari, that bitch!” she replied. Another arrow loosed into an ash spawn and it burst into a thick cloud of dust. I heard her grunt as she took the conjured bow and slammed it into the head of one of the spawn. “I’m going after her!”

“Rook!” I called out in futility. One last swing and my sword felled the last of the spawn. Before I could yell out again, I heard the thick and heavy steps of foot on wood as she bounded up the ramp that led to the top of the scaffolding. The sound echoed through the large chamber, her curses following closely. “ _Elyrrya_!” I tried desperately. “Damn her,” I muttered.

Running to catch up with her, I placed a foot onto the platform and a swirl of ash formed in front of me. The ash settled in a more solid form and chunks of rubble swirled in its wake. It turned toward me. I readied my sword. With my other arm, I began to hurl fire wildly at the atronach and with the other expertly hitting each mark I set. It swung at me and my sword flew from my hand. Crossing one foot over the other, the atronach and I spun around in an odd dance. I would weave and it would follow my lead, allowing me to attack again. At some point I reached back to where my sword was. Crouching low, I picked it up and swung upwards, disintegrating the form.

Still standing, I leaned forward and balanced my forearms on my knees. My breathing was a little unsteady but none the worse for wear. I looked upward and without a second thought tore into full sprint up the ramp. The corridors and scaffolding had enough twists and turns but following the trail of ash piles, I was able to ascertain Rook’s trajectory. A few ash spawn sprung up here and there but I easily dispatched them. I found Rook flat against a wall, breathing heavily and craning to look around a corner.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” I demanded. “Do you have a death wish?” And as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I would have given anything in that moment to pluck them from the air and stuff them back. I was sounding over-protective, doting. Ignorant.

She shot me a dirty look from under her hood. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty damn good at doing this kind of thing by myself.”

Rolling my eyes I fell in beside her, “So, what’s going on?”

“Ildari.” She jerked a thumb in the opposite direction and a shock of lightning hit near us. “Neloth did a fine job at keeping her alive. I’ve loosed three arrows into her and she’s shrugged it off like it’s nothing.”

Leaning forward I tried glancing over. “Is that bridge the _only_ way to get to her? There’s a full set of enchanted gems waiting to strike as well.”

She nodded. “But I’ve been watching her—Ildari won’t come any closer but she’ll lose some steam and then we have to run over there _fast_.” Her hand quietly and softly patted against the wall, keeping time. I watched her chest rise up slowly and deflate. Another bolt of lightning hit near our feet and a starburst of black struck the floor. “Now!” And without another warning, she took off.

The soul gems struck at our feet and legs and torso and arms, striking painfully in sharp hits. Ildari was readying another spell, but before she could Rook unsheathed her dagger and swiped at her face. The Dunmer was knocked to one side but regained her composure quickly and used the force to hurl back into Rook. She hadn’t been paying attention and lost her footing, tumbling backward. Over the log railings, she flew and lost the chance to grasp onto anything. A second later, there was a sickening thud and a loud snap followed by a painful scream.

For a short moment, I ignored Rook’s cries and easily thrust my sword into Ildari’s abdomen. There was a look of shock on her face before I slid my sword out. A fresh gush of blood expelled itself as she dropped like a stone. With the problem eliminated, I finally looked over the railing and called out to Rook but she was nowhere to be found.

“Rook?”

“Yeah?” I heard behind me. She was limping badly on one side and before I could ask she explained, “Just cracked my leg. Or hip, I think. Or something. I’m fine.” A lopsided smile tried to find its way onto her face within her disheveled hair and a scraped cheek. My guess was that her hood and mask were probably torn as well now. “Spell here and a potion there, good as new.”

I don’t know what overcame me but my feet drew me to her and I yanked off my helm, jerked down my kerchief. I embraced her, pulling her into a kiss. My mouth moved slowly against hers, trying to savor the taste of sulfur on her tongue. She didn’t pull away but rather brought a hand to my jawline, stroking downward to my neck and then further down to grasp my kerchief. As quickly as I drew her in, Rook tugged the cloth back upwards over my mouth and smiled.

“We can’t have fun just yet. Job isn’t quite finished,” she explained and pointed to Ildari’s body. “You don’t have to help but I’d appreciate it.”

“With?”

She crouched over the corpse and brought out her dagger. “We have to remove the heartstone or she isn’t going to stay dead. You heard Neloth.”

My stomach churned involuntarily but I crouched over the body with her. Rook yanked off her gloves and buried the dagger underneath Ildari’s clothes and ripped downward. Ildari wore no smallclothes so her breasts drooped in such a way that made me think of stones rather than flesh. “Can’t we just bring the corpse back to Neloth?”

Rook shook her head as she brought the dagger high above her head and then swung it hard downward. There was a sickening sound as she cut downward and was met with flesh and blood and bone. “Neloth will just make me do this anyway” There was another sick crack as she reached the ribs. “Teldryn, a hand please?” She put her gloves on and grabbed one side of the rib cage. “Ready? One, two… three!”

And on three we both jerked back as hard as we could and the crack of ribs and slick of blood echoed loudly in the small alcove. Ildari’s internal organs looked displaced, unnatural. Whatever work Neloth had done to her had been extensive. Without hesitation, she simply reached in and yanked out the heartstone that was sitting where the heart should have been. Thin streams of blood ran down her hands and arms.

I frowned at the promise of immortality that Rook held in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I start school next week so the updates will slow. This is chapter 32 out of 44 though, so we're nearing the end. Onto what's going on here though. This chapter was hard to write the first time but it was even harder to edit over now. This chapter represents actions I don't agree with but I have to give my characters their due service. I don't like that Rook slaps Teldryn but there's a lot going on underneath. She's slowing losing her sanity and her existence; she doesn't want anyone to know but she's also got some complicated feelings happening (obv). Neither of them have the best communication skills--she gets easily frustrated while Teldryn often deflects by ignoring issues or making a joke. It doesn't make for a good combination during a major disagreement, high tension, and/or heated emotions. So, again, I don't agree with the actions but I understand why I felt it was the best course of action for the plot.
> 
> And you'll notice that the resolution to their argument wasn't quite satisfactory. Don't worry. There are still twelve chapters left.
> 
> So, Teldryn now knows Rook spent some time with the Companions. That might be important much, much later. I think it's now obvious that he's already given into his feelings for her. It might be harder for Rook to give in but I think it's easy to see that she's not great at fending it off. Hmm. What more? Oh, right. Now he knows that she's killing herself trying to keep from going mad. Rook might be able to recover from a lot, but this is a bit different than a simple wound. 
> 
> Thanks to lovely guests who've left kudos. You guys are fantastic!
> 
> Next chapter? Rook gets to meet some Rieklings. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	33. Reclamations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning: explicit sexual content in this chapter

Talvas slammed the wooden door so hard that I had to take a step back in order to avoid getting hit. Gritting my teeth, I pounded on the door repeatedly and screamed, “You gods damned wizard!” I pounded even harder. “If you think you can keep me out here waiting—” when my hand landed again, I felt a few large splinters jab their way into the side of my hand. Yanking it away, I hissed. “Ah! By the Nines!” Not wanting to be defeated, I gave the door a solid kick.

            Teldryn grabbed me by the shoulder and roughly pulled me away. “ _Muthsera_. Stop.”

            Shooting one last dirty look at Tel Mithryn, I exhaled and looked at the side of my glove—thick, dark splinters protruded out like spikes. I brought my left hand to pull out one but the moment the splinter slid out of its resting place, my body winced.

            Without a word, Teldryn stilled my hand and took me by the elbow, leading me down the ramp. He sat me down on a root jutting out in such a way I could do so comfortably. “Never in my life have I met someone so impatient and reckless,” he grumbled as he pulled off his gloves and then his helm. Taking my splintered hand in his own, his fingers plucked out one quickly and I curled a little into myself. A half smile crossed his face. “Stay still or you’re going to make this worse.”

            A hot blush began to unfurl at the base of my neck against my own volition; I wasn’t sure what it was that had suddenly changed, but embarrassment flooded me any time he looked at me now. There was another quick pluck but I was ready for the pain. Once more and he was completely finished. “Thanks,” I grumbled. Yanking my hand back, I rubbed the side of it. “Bastard. He’s had over a whole day to look at the things and has the nerve to keep _me_ out.”

            “It is _his_ home, lab…” Teldryn’s arms spread out wide to the whole of Tel Mithryn. “Pretty much everything. And I doubt he’s going to be any more pleased if you break down his door.” His hand reached out for my own and kissed the inside of my palm. “And I won’t be pleased if continue on hurting yourself doing so.” Another fresh wave of redness overtook my face and I couldn’t hide it. Surprisingly, Teldryn said nothing and, for some strange reason, that irritated me.

            Cocking my mouth, I rose to my feet and nudged him. “ _Fine_.” Deciding to leave Neloth to cloister himself in his giant mushroom, I reached for my map and snapped it open. While scanning the various markers, my finger traced from Tel Mithryn along the coast to the Skaal Village. “Hmm.”

            Teldryn shifted, his sword clanging against the armor. His voice was a little more muted than usual. “ _Hmm_ , what?”

            I shook my head. “Nothing. Just wondering which way would be best. I can’t stand this.”

            “Sitting around, doing nothing.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. There was a level of discomfort that came with how well he had the measure of me at times. His hand reached for his own map and took a moment study the route I’d traced. “It would be more scenic along the coast, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

            Looking over his shoulder, I pointed out, “And avoid climbing any mountains. Unless you like climbing.”

            Before answering me, he put his helm back on and shrugged, “Either way, I’m right behind you.”

            There was something off about the way he was acting but I couldn’t blame him. It was a little admirable the way he was taking everything in stride. I’m sure when I hired him he hadn’t expected to get caught up with a patron who was tangled up in a daedric prince’s plan to get rid of a long dead dragon priest much less be willing to deal with my imminent death on this plane. For the time being, I was struggling to ignore it myself. Without knowing how much time I had left, I was desperate for Neloth to hurry with his research.

            Either way, a little honesty might assuage some of his worries. “It’s really my fault.” We had already made our way down, meeting the coastline and lazily strolling close to the choppy waters. “Neloth told me not to open any more of those books outside of his presence and, surprise, my impatience got the better of me.”

            He sighed but then shrugged. “Well, I hate to admit this but I understand why you preferred reading those tomes to being unable to control your powers.”

            “You do?”

            “I said I understood, not that I _agreed_.” He glanced at me.

            There was another long period of silence. Nchardak was now in view, the ruins just as we had left them save for a few reavers that had made camp again. Before I could say anything to Teldryn, he had already summoned his atronach to take care of the lingering bandits. Without looking at him, I could tell he hadn’t spared me or the camp a second glance. This was more than a minor annoyance. Something dark was eating at him. From behind us there was some frantic screaming and disgruntled yelling. The only thing I paid attention to was the way my boots sank easily into the moist ash, flecks of debris staining Glover’s handiwork. A few words lingered on my tongue but none of them seemed appropriate to break the silence.

            To my relief Teldryn whistled to fill in the space between us. Even underneath his kerchief the tune rang out clearly and loudly; there was some familiarity to it but I couldn’t quite place my finger on where I had heard it from. After I few seconds, I began humming along with him. There was some reassurance in knowing that he was willing to help me stave off the unwelcome silence between us. Looking upward, the forest took me aback—it briefly reminded me of home, of Skyrim. A pang of longing struck me and I went silent.

            Teldryn stopped in his tracks and looked back at me, “Something wrong?”

            I shook my head. “Nothing important.”

            A long-suffering sigh escaped from him. For the first time in a very long while, I felt a little bad at the way I had been treating him. Not paying my followers any mind had become second nature after a while. Genuine concern for anyone was a long-forgotten feeling.

            I made an effort to fix what I was constantly breaking. “This reminds me of Skyrim.” I extended my arm to the forest.

            “Skyrim?” A chuckle followed the question. “You mean with the burning mountain along the horizon?” His own arm stretched the opposite direction where I could faintly make out the coastline and the Red Mountain burning far off.

            A small weight lifted off of my shoulders hearing him laugh. “You know what I mean.” Ribbing him gently, I purposefully moved a little closer to him. A little more seriously, I added, “And I would like to know what has you so quiet. Your tongue isn’t usually so still.”

            The way he shifted to one side and crossed his arms made it seem as if he was irritated but I knew better. It was worry, plain and simple. His mouth shifted into a slight smile underneath the thick cloth. “As if you couldn’t guess.”

            “Ah,” was all I could think of to reply with. A knot of discomfort tangled back and forth on itself in my stomach. Teldryn’s patience was enviable at the very least—his respect for my feelings even more so. An odd wave of feelings mixed inside of me and I uncovered my face, my head. He was only a few inches taller than I, but I still had to use the tips of my toes to reach upward. My hand hooked onto his kerchief and pulled down the cloth just enough so that my lips could find his own. My actions caught him off-guard. He gave a startled noise against my mouth but soon settled into the easy rhythm I was pacing him at. My forehead scraped against his helm and I winced but didn’t move away. Teldryn must have noticed because he quickly pulled it off and let it drop to the ground unceremoniously.

            The way he kissed me always made me dizzy. I asked him one time what always made him so eager and the only thing I was given was a cocky smile, something hidden behind it and the wink he used to garnish the action. His hands slid from my arms to the curve of my jaw, both cradling my face to gently keep me where I had settled. Then, finally, I felt him stop and press a harder, longer kiss onto my mouth. Pulling slowly away, we looked at each other. My own breathing felt as ragged as his seemed. A wide smile spread across his lips, his hands moved to smooth my hair.

            Something caught in my throat, the way my eyes lingered on his was making it hard to swallow my feelings back down. Against my own volition my mouth opened and I almost admitted the unthinkable. The only thing that escaped was, “I—” before Teldryn dropped a gloved finger onto my mouth. It instantly shut closed but he didn’t remove himself.

            “I really don’t need you to say anything,” he blurted out, a dark flush crossing his cheeks. “Unless, of course, I mean—”

My stomach fluttered at what I realized was happening. The unwavering smile didn’t move from his face but his other hand was tapping against his hip. Before he could say anything else, I placed my finger on his lips as well. We looked like idiots, I was certain, standing around with one silencing the other. My grin felt as foolish as his looked. Trying to still my own breath was proving to be futile. My pulse raced. Oh gods. This couldn’t be happening. I told myself not to let myself fall like this again, and yet, here I was.

            “Well, then,” my mouth moved against his glove and I could taste the earth upon them. “If we’re finished here, we need to press forward.”

            “Me?” Feeling his own mouth against my finger only served to increase the heat in my face. “I’ll _never_ be finished with you.” Teldryn’s eyebrows raised in question at the admission and I felt my knees weaken. “But for now, we can carry on.” Clearing his throat, he bent down and picked up his helm. As he dusted it off, I didn’t bother covering my face again—the cool sea air was a relief against my flushed skin. He didn’t bother putting the helm back on but rather carried it underneath his arm. Before I could say anything else, he coughed again.

            “But the forest… um…” It took me a moment to realize that he was picking up where we had left off. Teldryn rubbed the back of his neck. His face was as serious as I had ever seen it—his mouth set flat and his eyes fixed on my face to gauge my reaction. “There is _nothing_ that I don’t absolutely love about this place at this moment.”

            My feet kept moving but it wasn’t because I was making the conscious effort. The weight of his words was not lost on me. His affections hadn’t gone unnoticed. No matter the amount of money, there wasn’t a mercenary who would carry an unconscious patron to bed and sit by their side until they awoke. To hear him use such strong language to describe his feelings made me feel uneasy because he was echoing my own emotions. Love had made me weak; caring for someone else often ended in heartache for me. Brynjolf’s rejection had been more than two years ago and I was still harboring the pain as if _that_ was going to keep me safe from any other unwanted feelings.

            And now I was as good as dead. Teldryn had to bear the suffering as well though. I had asked him to help me and, although he acted as if being paid was important, if I had just told him the truth earlier he would have aided me without question. Even his anger at me was usually justified. If he yelled at me or threw curses, it was only because I had driven him to that point. Slowly, I realized that when I disappeared into Oblivion, he was going to be left to nurse his broken heart alone. I was going to cause that much suffering. I was a horrible person.

            “Teldryn.”

            He didn’t stop or look back at me but responded. “Yes, Elyrrya?” Something slightly odd was under the response. He sounded almost anxious.

            But like the coward I was all that came out was, “It is beautiful here.”

            Yes—a horrible, terrible person.

There was something eerie about the looking out at the waters and seeing the mountain still smoking lazily from the apex, ominous and looming. I bit the inside of my cheek, frustrated at the situation I couldn’t resolve easily—angry at myself for not being able to give Teldryn _anything_.

Luckily, Teldryn fell back into our easy relationship with no further questions. “So you really have been all over Skyrim?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve traversed every acre but, yes, I’ve had to run across the whole of the land more than a few times.” One of my arms went up and down and then went left and right. I noticed that there was now a slight chill in the air around us. I rubbed the bare parts of my arms where gooseflesh had prickled up. “Although the colder parts leave much to be desired.”

He patted me on the back and sighed, “That’s what you get for running around not properly dressed.”

“The only ones properly dressed for this around here are the Skaal and I’d rather be dead than be caught in one of those oversized pelts.” I shuddered at the thought of all that bulk weighing me down.

“By all means then,” one of his hands waved outward in offering. “Freeze to death then.”

I snorted. “Yes, like this weather is enough to—” A rabble of noise caught my attention. We both stopped where we were. Listening more closely, I was able to make out some of the voices. “Skaal?”

Teldryn shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like reavers to me.”

Slowly, we rounded a formation of rocks and the voices became more distinct.

“I’m not going to lead them to their deaths if they aren’t ready,” a thickly-accented woman disagreed.

A grunt of displeasure prefaced, “Then _train_ them. What are we doing here?” the man’s voice demanded. “We should either get used to staying here or be preparing to retake the hall.” I thought I heard something slam down on the ground. “You're having us do neither, and I can't stomach it!”

Teldryn walked closer and I saw no harm in following. These people looked more like the Nords of Skyrim than the Skaal. The camp wasn’t much but a good number of people were out and about, skinning animals or crafting armor. A large campfire was at the center but no one was warming by its side.

I thought I heard a man complain, “It’s colder down here. I don’t _like_ the cold.”

As soon as we stepped into the camp, the woman I assumed had been speaking before took notice and snapped, “Come to mock our shame, like the others?” Her hands moved so quickly to the axe by her side, I threw my own in the air to show her I meant no harm.

“Hey, no. Just walking through, had _absolutely_ no idea you guys,” I motioned around the camp. “Were…ah… here.”

The woman’s steely gaze met my own and neither of us backed down, our resolutions evenly matched. When she didn’t give me a response Teldryn offered to fill in the silence, “So, what’s going on here?”

And just like that, she locked onto Teldryn and growled, “What’s ‘going on here’ is that we’ve been kicked out of our home.”

I shot a gaze over to Teldryn, wordlessly begging him to not inquire any further. This had all the beginnings of someone wanting a favor. Blessedly, he took notice. She didn’t though. Instead, she threw out a hand and I unwillingly shook it. “I’m Bujold, leader of our clan.” Her face was fairly unreadable. There was war paint streaked across her face and the rest was made less obvious by a helm covering her nose and eyebrows. “The mead hall up there,” she jerked a thumb up the hill but hesitated at the next part. “Some… Rieklings have taken it over.”

I blinked. All I could do was stare back at her. “Rieklings?”

Bujold and Teldryn both asked me at the same time, “Really?” I could feel both of their eyes on me, searching for any answer at all as to my behavior. It felt like some kind of joke I wasn’t let in on.

Teldryn must have known though. “How on _Nirn_ did you let Rieklings overpower you?”

“With tenacity and numbers!” she countered back. “I mean, it didn’t help we’d grown too comfortable up there.”

“Hey,” I tried stepping in. “Still don’t know what we’re talking about here.”

They continued to ignore me.

“Too much mead,” Bujold continued, her voice a little nostalgic. “Too many stories. Too few battles.” Her head hung downward in defeat as the last word came out as a sigh.

Stupidly, I simply suggested, “Maybe you should just find a few more warriors.” Looking around, it looked like they had a good number of men but maybe a little encouragement would help get this woman off of our case. Although Teldryn stoking her vigor didn’t help any.

Bujold looked over at me, her face awash with hope. “Are you… offering to help?”

“What?” Before I could utter out a protest, she was already shouting out to her men.

“Hey, you lazy milkdrinkers!” Her two hands cupped her mouth to amplify the sound coming from her.

“Whoa, hold on, Bujold.” I waved my hands frantically but she ignored me. “I _really_ wasn’t offering to help.”

Yet Bujold shouted on. “I know you’re all starting to settle here—”

“No, no, no,” I tried interrupting her but she pressed forward. I turned to Teldryn in desperation as Bujold boomed in the background. “Good gods, she’s mad.”

Even Teldryn looked a little lost for words. “We aren’t actually going to help them, are we? Because Rieklings are bastards to deal with.”

“What in _Oblivion_ is a Riekling?” An exasperated sigh followed the thought.

Bujold unsheathed the sword opposite to the axe on her other hip and raised it high above her head. There was a mighty roar from the gathering of men and women who surrounded her—deafening for such a small group. She let out another battle cry and grabbed my wrist, the strength of her arm yanked me painfully upward. “A little new blood in this battle is just what we need!” Another cry rang out and carried out through the hills.

“Oh _gods_ ,” I groaned and tried to pull my arm downward. I could see Teldryn beside me, head in hand and shaking it in disbelief.

Bujold yelled out again, “All I had to do was _mention_ the infestation and this outsider volunteered in a second!”

“I did _no_ such thing!” I screamed at her fruitlessly—the aggressive roaring was too much for one voice to penetrate. The only thing it did was make it appear as if I was joining in passionately.

“And I don’t want _my_ spirit outstripped by some _wanderer_ , so, let’s get up there and kill us some Rieklings!” And with one final roar Bujold took off at a break neck speed, dashing up the hilltop.

I rubbed my wrist tenderly.

Teldryn raised an eyebrow. “Well then, this is certainly exciting. Rieklings.”

“ _Thrilling_ ,” I grumbled as the now blood-thirsty group ran off, screaming at the top of their lungs. Taking the thumb and middle finger of one hand, I began rolling them slowly in circles against my temples. “By the Eights, Nines, and Tens,” I cursed.

Teldryn clicked his tongue. “That’s what you get for encouraging Nords,” he admonished but flashed me an affectionate smile.

“ _Are_ they Nords?” I asked no one in particular with my arms spread out widely and my hands splayed. “I mean, I would believe it. They’re stubborn enough.”

Again, Teldryn only shook his head and sighed. “Are we following them?” Even though the question went unanswered, he began putting his helm and kerchief on.

Spying the last of the group running behind the rest I mulled over the idea. Bujold seemed the type of carry a grudge. If she thought I had agreed to anything and then I suddenly didn’t make good on the supposed commitment, there could be some nasty business afterwards. That coupled with her jabs made me feel a little ruffled. She had been quick to tag me as the force behind this attack; if they lost, I would be to blame, my reputation tarnished. A part of me wondered what they’d be willing to offer me if I led them to victory. Feeling a little cocky about showing up this group of stubborn layabouts, I nodded.

“I would tell you that you don’t have to follow but I know you will,” I replied as I took off at a jog after the group. Teldryn was close behind me and catching up. The wind whipped my hair back and a few snowflakes brushed against my cheek, a kiss of ice here and there.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss your first encounter with the Rieklings.” He didn’t sound out of breath and kept at an easy pace beside me, his sword clanking against leg.

I, on the other hand, began feeling a raw tug at my hip as the hill grew steeper. “What is—” Taking a deep breath, I felt my lungs burn from the extra work I had to push myself to accomplish. “—a Riekling?” Another sharp sting at my hip and I gasped in pain. When Ildari pushed me over the railing my hip had cracked with the brunt of the force downward. Teldryn had desperately sought to bid me to rest but I told him I was fine. At least I had been while walking.

He didn’t look back but took notice of my pain. “I’m not going to carry your arse to this hall.” He laughed dryly but answered my question, “They’re creatures that are scattered throughout the island. Small but unyielding in large groups.”

Not wanting to be terribly behind the others, I kept pressing my hip to carry on. All that accomplished was another fresh scream of pain. Luckily, we hadn’t been far. At the top of the hill stood the hall that had supposedly been taken by the Rieklings. Outside, Bujold and her group were already hard at work hacking away at small, blue creatures that were screaming in something unintelligible and jabbing at them in return with spears that were thick but as small as arrows. Frankly, it was a little embarrassing watching the huge, armored Nords miss as they swung at the Rieklings that could easily avoid their needlessly powerful jabs.

I rolled my eyes. “ _These_ are Rieklings?” Pushing past Teldryn, I slid by the ruckus beside me. At one point one of the creatures tried stabbing at me but an ice spike to the head quickly took it out. It croaked out some pitiful death rattle. A little less easily than I would have liked, I stepped underneath the large awning. I massaged my hip before opening the door. What lay behind it only served to amplify my confusion over why the Nords had been kicked out.

Across the length of the hall stood about twenty of the things, spears in hand and all aimed at me. They looked like smaller, squatter versions of Mer—all of them sported exaggeratedly pointed ears and noses. At the very center, straight across from the door, lazily sat one that was adorned with a lavish headdress. One of them snarled at me and an arrow hummed past my head.

“Apparently those Nords _had_ grown soft,” I observed to the Rieklings who couldn’t understand me. Behind me I felt a rabble of men and women shouting out. Flexing both of my fists, I threw out an arm and warned them, “Stand back.”

The first wave of Rieklings rushed at me but before they could land a blow, I hurled a brilliant spray of lightning from my hands, disintegrating them into piles of dust. The creatures that were left to see their fallen comrades contorted their faces in confusion and fear. The chief yelled something furiously to them and pointed at me, standing up on his makeshift throne and jumping up and down.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t give you a chance to back down.” I continued to unleash a lightning storm around me. The ends of my fingertips felt numb from the energy being expelled from them, the air around me crackled in white hot heat. Compounded with the small area of the hall, the temperature was becoming oppressive. I took one step forward and my foot landed in the ashen remains of a Riekling. One of the Nords flew in and stabbed a lingering creature that had hidden away. I saw Bujold rush in beside me and loose an arrow into the chief that was now snarling, spear in hand. He gave a startled yell before falling onto his back.

Bujold looked at the clean carnage around her and hit me squarely on the back, obviously impressed. “Aaaah! That was almost...,” she searched for a safe word that would allow her to share in the success as well. “Exhilarating!” She must have seen me kneading at my hip. “How are you feeling?”

“Feeling like this has been a big waste of my time,” I grumbled, still rubbing gingerly at my hip. I didn’t bother with looting any of the corpses or what was left of them. Instead I limped back outside where I saw Teldryn waiting in the snow. His arms were crossed and one foot was tapping less in impatience than it was boredom. Looking back at Bujold I waved. “This has been fun but too easy for my tastes. Good luck with... whatever it is you do here.”    

Before my foot landed another step in the snow, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder and spun me around. “That’s great!” Bujold exclaimed. “Just the kind of spirit I need in a Second.” Her voice couldn’t hide her jubilation.

I didn’t even bother arguing with her. Never in my life had I met someone so pushy and demanding that I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. My head hung in defeat and I brought a hand to cover my eyes as if that would shield me before trying to dissent against the stubborn Nord. “Listen, Bujold. I’m not getting anything out of being your...” I had forgotten what she called me.

 “My Second,” she said matter-of-factly while wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leading me back outside. “If we’re going to take up residence here again, I need Hrothmund’s blessings… again,” she explained further.

“Yes,” I muttered with my shoulders slumped and my feet dragging. “He’d want to bless you again so you can muck things up _again_. I need _compensation_ for my time if you’d like anything further from me.”

She jerked a thumb back at the din her clan was making behind us, clearly ignoring me. “These horker-brains are difficult to discipline, wouldn’t know what a hard day’s work looked like if it hit them square in the face. And _that_ is exactly why I need someone like _you_ to be witness to the blessing. Not one of these lazy, good for nothing…” her thoughts trailed off.  I took advantage of the moment to listen to a voice in the back of my mind, urging me to squeeze this warrior’s optimism for what it was worth.

“I’m the _Dragonborn_.” Really, bluntness and flashy gestures were all that seemed to penetrate this woman’s one-track mind. Taking a finger, I prodded her chest hard and her eyes widened in clear shock. Before she could get a word in, I continued, “My time is valuable. You may not have noticed but there are _dragons_ flying around Solstheim so your _petty_ problems aren’t exactly my concern.” For added effect I added, “Nor is your obviously weak and pitiful clan.”

Even from a side glance, I could see Teldryn wince. Right in front of me, Bujold stood stoically with her arms crossed and her lips clamped down hard on one another. Some of her warriors had heard my less than pleasant voice and were looking cautiously outside, their interest piqued. I stood my ground all the same, heels planted in firmly and both hands on my hips. My hip was still enflamed, my actions stoking another red hot wash of pain over it. Just when I thought Bujold might punch me, she erupted in a hearty laugh and picked me up with both arms, squeezing me in a tight embrace.

“Ooof!” The air was all but crushed from my body. Bujold was not much taller than me but she obviously had more strength. Trying to push away from the tree trunks she called arms, all I was able to do was wriggle about a bit.  I could hear Teldryn behind us, laughing like mad. “Teldryn!” He ignored me and continued laughing.

            Bujold dropped me and I landed painfully with all the weight on my injured hip. I could feel tears welling at the corners of my eyes. She seemed overjoyed though. “ _The_ Dragonborn? Even the Skaal of old would tell their children bedtime stories about you! To have the Dragonborn as my witness, I’d give _anything_.” The look on her face was much like the one on a child during the festival days.

            “Oh?” I only had to wave my hand in agreement to seal the deal. “Then _immediately_ after your blessing you’ll be heading to Raven Rock. I’ve left important business there and can’t be all over this gods damned island at once.”

Her enthusiastic nodding was coupled with another quick embrace.

I weakly coughed out a, “Stop,” but it did no good.

            “To Hrothmund it is then!” She took off toward the west and I had to shout at her to slow down.

            Teldryn walked up beside me and laid a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, shaking his head. “Letting those Nords know you’re the Dragonborn? You’ll never hear the end of it.”

            “I was never going to hear the end of it if I _hadn’t_.” I removed his hand from my shoulder but kept it in my own. “Besides, they’re just _wild_ about me back in Skyrim. Dragonborn _this_ and Dragonborn _that_. It’s not the first time I’ve dropped my own name to my advantage.” Nodding my head in Bujold’s direction I added, “And now that poor fool is going to wait in Raven Rock for me and then run across the entire whole of the island when _Northern Maiden_ comes back.” I smiled contentedly with the results.

            He groaned good-naturedly and pulled down his coverings to lay a kiss on my cheek. “You wicked woman, whatever will I do with you?”

            Starting off in the direction of the Nord I shrugged. “Thank me?” My hip was beginning to feel a bit more at ease with the pressure I was relieving it of. “I was going to have _you_ do so before she eagerly agreed to.”

* * *

 

            Bujold couldn’t have been happier, chatting about how her clan had separated from the Skaal back in only the gods cared when.

            “Hrothmund the Red founded Thirsk Mead Hall in hopes of regaining his Nord roots, to know the true sting of cold and steel of the wilderness. Drengr Bronze-Helm’s head graced the walls of the Hall for as long as Hrothmund ruled,” she sighed dreamily.

            “I hope he was killed by something stupid,” I mumbled to Teldryn, “Like a _wolf_.” In an attempt to warm myself I had covered my face and head but that only served to keep a part of me more comfortable. My hands were hard at work, chafing the skin off my upper arms—the flesh prickled in retaliation to the bitter, freezing wind howling about. “If we don’t get there soon, I’m going to throw her off the nearest mountain.”

            He took pity on me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Not moving my own hands, I moved in closer to his body and grumbled sullenly. It had taken us about an hour to travel to where we were now and Bujold was constantly assuring us that it would only be a “few minutes more.” The minutes dragged on laboriously, second by second ticked sluggishly. Teldryn had been silent save for a chuckle here and there at my discontent at what I had agreed to. Just as we were about to take heavy steps over some large rubble, he released me.

            As I heaved myself over the biggest of the pieces, Bujold widened her arms. “Here we are.” She glanced at me. “Are we ready?”

            The place didn’t seem like much, just plain Nord ruins. “Depends on what’s going to happen when we go in there.”

            She shrugged. “It’s pretty simple. Hrothmund is in there with his axe and anyone who attempts to take hold of it will have their spirit judged by him.”

            I flinched. “You didn’t mention we’d be fighting a ghost.” This was already sounding like something I shouldn’t have volunteered for.

            Waving her hands, she reassured me, “No, no, nothing like that. No battle is necessary. He’s always watched over Thirsk and sees us from beyond.”

            I chortled, “So he watched you make a mess of the whole thing.”

            _That_ got her upset. Her raised voice accompanied outstretched hands, a red face. “He’s blessed me before and found me worthy! I made a mistake, allowing my clan to become soft like the Skaal.” Her voice quieted a touch. “It will just be a matter of him remembering why he blessed me before.”

            Raising an eyebrow, I crossed my own arms. “Just how hard is it going to be to _help_ his memory along then?”

            Without hesitation, Bujold climbed into the narrow opening of the cave. Her words echoed across the walls, “All you have to do is watch.”

            Rolling my eyes I started to follow her but saw Teldryn lean back against a wall outside the barrow entrance. “Decided to wait?”

            I couldn’t tell what he was looking at, the thick glass of his goggles looking out toward the vast, snowy land. He nodded. “Just tired is all.”

            Uncovering my head so he could visibly see my frown, I pushed up from my knees and met him. He watched me as I dug around in my pouch and retrieved an apple, a small section of it bruised. I took his hand and placed the fruit squarely in his palm. “Here.”

            The only acknowledgement I got was him yanking down his kerchief and smiling as he took a large bite. As he chewed slowly, he watched me.

            Feeling uncomfortable, I snapped at him, “You’re _welcome_.”

            He swallowed what he had been chewing. “Oh, I’m appreciative. It’s just not what I _want_.”

            “Oh?” I returned his wide, knowing grin. My heart beat quickly against my chest. Teldryn took another loud bite. From inside the cave I could hear Bujold calling out for me. “Looks like your wants will have to wait for now. This should hold you over until then.” Standing on my toes, I raised myself so I could meet him. His lips felt warm from being bundled in thick cloth and his tongue tasted sweet from the fruit. There was still a hint of earth lingering in his mouth though. Slowly, Teldryn’s arms slid to my shoulders and pushed me away.

            “You’re only making this worse,” he jokingly complained, a smile still on his lips.

            “I know.” Slinking back into the entrance I waved to him. “I shouldn’t be long.”

            I heard bemused humming from him as I climbed through the entrance. My feet landed on soft ground. The small area before us looked like any other barrow. There was dry earth covering the floor but above and around us hung the roots of wayward plants from above. A set of stairs led upward and a trail of candles were placed on each of the steps. Bujold was already taking the stairs two by two. By the time I started following her, she stood on a platform overlooking a sunken barrow. Water swallowed the entirety of burial site.

            “Um, Bujold? Is Hrothmund’s grave _underneath_ the water?”

            Waving a hand to shush me, she pointed out at the sight before us. “Watch.”

            I tapped my foot, trying to be patient. Huffing out air, my feet decided to descend the stairs downward that led into the murky water. “You can wait but I’m going on ahead. Can’t wait here all day.” But as I took the first steps down, a low rumble overtook the barrow and the water began to drain. Not wanting to stop the flow, I kept walking. From seemingly nowhere, large bowls of cold coal shot up ablaze, fresh warmth glowing orange around the blues and greens of the water around us.

            Once the water leveled as low as possible, it revealed a convergence of two paths—both led up to a dais surrounded by more small hearths. All I could see was a jutting rock. Bujold quickly ran to the rock and I as got closer realized that an axe was embedded in the rock.

            “There it is!” she exclaimed.

            “ _This_?” Tapping on the axe, I could feel the heavy burden of regret settle onto my shoulders. “We came all the way out here for _this_?”

            As if to impress me, she made a show of bending downward and taking hold of the haft, one hand gripping tightly while the other flexing upward to the neck. “Just have to take a hold of it first.” The wide smile on her face was a little disconcerting.

            There was nothing for a second but then a soft voice rang through the alcove we were in.

            “You seek my blessing for the leadership of Thirsk Hall?” asked what I could only guess was Hrothmund’s spirit.

            Bujold released her grip, all of her knuckles white but returning to their normal coloration. “I do. It is I, Bujold. You have blessed me in the past and I have now reclaimed the hall once again from the Rieklings.”

            Yawning, I leaned against a wall. My mind began to wander to Teldryn while I heard Bujold speaking with the spirit. He wasn’t usually so fatigable but then again I was probably to blame for it. I had been running us both ragged across Solstheim. It hadn’t occurred to me that while I had been able to rest, he had been diligently keeping watch. A pang of guilt struck me. Suddenly, Bujold’s voice jolted me out of my reverie.

            “Then… the leadership is not mine?” her speech sounded steady but her words couldn’t hide her disbelief.

            “No. Nor is there anyone one of you fit to lead,” the spirit trailed off into more Nordic blather before finally going silent. Bujold could only stare at the axe. It looked like she might attempt to grab the axe again but her fingers only flexed in irritation.

            “That was a little embarrassing,” she shifted from one foot to another, readjusting the straps of her armor.

            “And getting your arse handed to you by little blue elves wasn’t?” This interesting development had certainly warranted my attention. “But now that Hrothmund has done so quite publicly, what will you do?”

            Starting back toward the entrance, Bujold shrugged. “No matter what he says, we still need a leader. I’m _still_ the best person for that.” The assertion was strong, assured. The woman wasn’t going to back down. “He’s dead and I’m alive. Time for a new tradition at Thirsk to begin anyway.”

            I couldn’t help but grin. The Nords of Skyrim were all mad for tradition and rituals and the words of their ancestors. Bujold might be lazy and not as watchful as she ought to be but her resolve to eschew traditions for pragmatism was refreshing. I was beginning to like her. She looked back at me.

            “Although it wasn’t quite so public. I’ll need you to back me up if anyone asks. Don’t exactly _lie_ … if it comes up just don’t tell the truth.”

            Laughing, I reassured her, “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that.” Both of us strolled leisurely out of the barrow. As she stepped out to Solstheim, a finger rose up in warning.

            “See that you keep quiet. If you’ll excuse me, I have a hall to lead,” she took her last steps into the snow and was off back to Thirsk Mead Hall. “I’ll be out to Raven Rock soon. The island is small enough, I’ll know where to find you once your armor arrives.”

            Ducking underneath the rocks to fix my own feet into the powdery snow, I called out to her, “Well, do see that the _Rieklings_ don’t upset your rule then.” Chuckling at my own jab, I looked to where I had left Teldryn to find him missing. My mouth involuntarily frowned and I pulled down my coverings.

            “Teldryn?” I called out, both hands around my mouth. The only good it served was to echo my words across the empty, vast snow. If I were someone else and looking for someone other than Teldryn, I might have started to grow concerned. My only emotion was minor annoyance. “Teldryn Sero!”

            A growl from behind me made me jump. “What?” the low gravel drawl was muffled by the cloth covering his mouth. “Gods know you’ve just about shouted my name from the mountains. Please, let everyone know where we are.” As he spread his arms wide and in each hand, there were two small, dead rabbits.

            “Hunting? Now?” Scrunching my nose to show my distaste, I added, “I wasn’t planning on staying here much longer.”

            Shifting one rabbit to his other hand, his other bloody hand wrapped around my waist and pulled me in close. “No? I thought we could linger a bit longer.”

            Not pulling away, my hand slipped behind the small of his back as well and guided him into the barrow. “Well, I suppose if you don’t mind the possibility of a spirit being about, watching and judging your every move.” I saw Teldryn grin widely at the thought. My own smile broadened. “And he doesn’t mince words. I just watched him tear apart that poor Nord’s recent performance.”

            Now that we were fully in the cover of the mound, he carelessly threw his supper to one side. When he tore off his own coverings, I noticed the unmistakable look of lust in his eyes. “That’s really too bad. I’m horrible at performing in front of an audience.” Pulling me into a rough, heady kiss I could hear him fumbling about with the straps and plates of his armor, doing his best of shrug off what he could while not breaking off our contact.

            My own hands were pushing him closer to me, beckoning his lips to stay just another second longer. I broke away for a short moment to ask, “Feeling better?”

            “I will be,” he answered into the crook of my neck. Teldryn occupied himself by yanking off what I was wearing, anything that would allow him a greater purchase to my naked skin. “You should let me have you.” His teeth lightly grazed against my neck and I couldn’t hold back a contented moan. Laughing, he agreed, “Yes, something like that.”

            “We’re going to get dirty,” I unsuccessfully protested. “Dirt everywhere.”

            With both of us now stripped of our armor, Teldryn took stock of my complaints. “You’re worried about _dirt_?” A hand slid from my hip and upward to my breast, grinning wickedly as he caressed me.

            Try as I might, my flushed skin was giving away my true feelings. “Yes,” I gasped. “ _Dirt_.” Finally able to pull away for a brief second, I groped around to yank out the large patchwork of pelts I only used to create temporary shelters from the bones of dragons. “Help,” I demanded and he was eager to do so. The best we were able to manage was some semblance of large bedroll, the corners jagged and folded in on themselves. Noticeable wrinkles slid upward like hills but Teldryn wasted no time catching me by the small of my back and coaxing me to my knees, laying me down.

Another brief kiss and he asked, “Everything acceptable now, my finicky patron?”

            “Not quite,” I grabbed one of his wrists beside me and swung a leg over so that I could fling my weight and bring myself on top, straddling him. “Better,” I nodded.

            He beamed. “I do _so_ like where this is going.”

            “Well,” I started, leaning over so that I was inches from his face. “I thought that maybe I’d stop making you do _all_ the work.”

            Teldryn smiled widely and stretched his arms upward, sliding his hands underneath his head. I felt his leg lift up and tap me playfully on my back. “Aren’t you _kind_?” he teased. “Giving out some small measure of mercy to your poor, overworked mercenary.”

            Rolling my eyes, I sat back upright and straddled his pelvis but making sure not to give any attention to his erection. “Kindness is for naïve fools. I’m being fair,” I countered. “Besides,” I argued, lowering myself just enough so his cock could graze against me. “I doubt this is going to feel like mercy.” As I rocked my hips slowly back and forth, his eyes closed and he released a deep sigh. Despite my best intentions, I couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed myself. The damp of the cave and the cold of the outside were no longer considerations against my flushed skin. It wasn’t so much my slickness sliding the length of him, teasing both of us—there was something new underneath all of our actions.

            One of his hands slipped from its resting spot and fingertips skimmed along one side of my leg. It was less about working me toward any finish than it was just a simple need for contact with some, _any_ part of me. Teldryn sighed again but this time a little more raggedly. Just as I smirked at my success, a fresh bolt of pain shot through my hip. Hissing through my teeth, my body leaned out of the source of my discomfort.

            Teldryn opened one eye and cocked me a knowing smile. “I could have told you that was going to happen.”

            Rubbing at my hip tenderly, I grimaced. “So you just let me continue?”

            He shrugged but his hand reached up to replace my own hand to massage the offending section. “You would have listened to me?” When I didn’t argue, he raised his legs slightly and lifted himself up to meet me, one hand still holding my hip tenderly. “I didn’t think so.”

            For a few moments he didn’t say anything but his free hand inched across my back. My own wrapped around his shoulders and I eased his head toward me so it could rest against my chest. My own eyes closed as my cheek rested against his messy, untrimmed hair.

            “I don’t absolutely _need_ this,” I felt his voice against my skin. “I’d rather you tell me to go roll around in the snow than hurt yourself any further.” He looked back up at me and smiled mischievously. “Or I could just take care of the problem myself.”           

            I had to laugh at the suggestion as one arm reached behind me to find his hand. Taking him by the wrist I slid his fingers around my thigh and toward the dark patch of hair curled loosely at the junction of my legs. As one of his fingers slipped between two folds, I asked, “And what about _my_ problem?”

            Good-naturedly, Teldryn rolled his eyes and feigned annoyance. “You don’t pay me enough. It’s really too taxing on me to be your sword _and_ your bed partner. How’s a man to have energy for both?” Even as he taunted me, he was sliding out from underneath me and bidding me to lie back. Resting on his side, he shoved one of his arms underneath my neck a little uncomfortably and I adjusted my head so as to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

            My legs spread open, his hand eased down again past my navel and rested against a hip bone. “Well?” I raised my eyebrows, nudged him a little.

            He laughed a little and quickly grabbed my hand, making no show about wrapping it around his cock. “You said you were going to be fair,” he pointed out, moving his hand back to its resting spot. “Surely that’s still on the table.”

            Grinning, I began to stroke him a little more than gently, my fingers tight against his erection. He flinched at first at the unexpected action but quickly delved his own fingers between my legs and mimicked my enthusiasm, causing me to catch my breath and curl my toes.

            My free hand wasn’t quite sure what to do with itself: at first my fingers clenched at the pelts beneath us but then moved to roughly grab one of my breasts, kneading painfully. I panted, moaned. Finally I brought the hand to my mouth and bit at my finger, my teeth clamped down hard.

            Between heavy breathing, Teldryn managed to strangle out, “What?” His head was tossed back, his voice strained.

            I shook my head, my hand cramping but not wanting to be outdone by him. “I didn’t say anything,” I mumbled.

            “That’s the _problem_ ,” his low voice sighed. “You aren’t saying a gods damned _thing_.”

            And it took me a moment to realize what he meant, my mind being on another plane entirely from his words. “ _No_ , Teldryn,” my words tripped over themselves. “I’m not going to scream your name in the presence of some spirit.”

            He didn’t seem pleased with that response, his hand pushing with a little more force now. Some high-pitched yelp escaped my lips and I could see a sly grin cross his face. “Then scream it to the mountains or the sky or the damned _wind_. Just make sure you assure me that you know who is satisfying you.”

            A fresh wave of hot blood coursed through my veins, suddenly feeling some slight embarrassment. The sudden realization that the cries of his name on my lips gave him some satisfaction made me feel a little foolish—how many people had heard me shout his name at the inn? Again I shook my head. No and no and no. This was feeling too much like all the times Brynjolf bid me silent, concerned about the noise and the possibility of the other members hearing us. He had always been worried about my propensity for commotion. Any time we stole away, he always clamped a hand over my mouth and bid my tongue to stay still.

            Although I continued to stroke him, Teldryn stopped.

            I frowned. “Something wrong?” My hips arched a little and wriggled, working to convince him to continue.

            “You’re bored,” he said flatly.

            “What? No.” My free hand moved to cover his own and one of my fingers urged him to at least massage if not penetrate. “If anything, I’m becoming increasingly _annoyed_.”         

            He wasn’t taking the hint. “ _That_ right there. It’s the same look you have when you get lost in thought. You’re not _here_.”

            Rolling my eyes, I took his lead and removed my hand from him. “Gods, Teldryn. I didn’t realize you required so much in order to achieve release.” It was meant to sound insulting but he didn’t look fazed. Instead he yawned and stretched his arm over his head.

            “I _told_ you: we don’t have to do this. I’d rather stop if it meant not competing with something on your mind.”

            And just the manner in which the words rolled off of his tongue, it sounded as if he knew I was thinking about another man. Pouting, I crossed my arms and my legs. “ _Fine_.” My nose turned upward the best I could manage. “Be like that.”

            Then he _laughed_. Loudly.

            I could feel my nostrils flare as my gaze flew to his face. “What in _Oblivion_ is your problem?”

            Instead of answering me, he leaned down and gave me a brisk kiss. “This is _much_ more preferable to all the other fights we have.” 

            “ _Fight_?” I shot up, using a hand to prop me up. “We’re not _fighting_. You’re just refusing to enjoy yourself. Despite the fact, might I add, that you practically _begged_ me to lie with you.”

            _That_ got to him. “ _Begged?_ I did no such thing.” His smirk contorted into something between confusion and disgust, eyes wide.

            Crossing my arms, I turned my back to him. “Begged. Didn’t beg. It doesn’t matter to me; if you’re finished then just say so. I’m not going to lie back and have you overthink every breath I take.”

            I felt Teldryn’s hands snake across my waist and I looked over my shoulder as he rested his chin on me. “You are intolerably cruel to me,” his voice had a note of teasing to it as he smirked at me.

            Squinting, I continued to glare at him. “You are insufferable at times.”

            He stuck his tongue out at me and one of his hands reached up to grope at one of my breasts. “How would you like to spend at the hands of an insufferable man?”

            My breath hitched and I could have cursed myself. “I suppose as long as you stop asking me to explain myself at every turn.”

            He rolled one taut nipple between his index finger and thumb; when I arched my back, he kissed my shoulder blade. “As long as you can tell me that the only one on your mind right now is _me_.”

            I bit my bottom lip and leaned into him a little more. “Are you that insecure?”

            “No,” he was quick to negate, “Just a bit competitive for your attention.”

            A short laugh escape me as I twisted around and laid a kiss on the crook of his neck. “You? Competitive? I would have never guessed. Would you feel like you’ve won if your name rung out through the wilds of Solstheim?”

            Teldryn’s mouth moved down to kiss my jaw and caught my lips. “Solstheim. Skyrim. Greater Morrowind, Cyrodiil, High Rock…” he trailed off, too occupied in making sure his tongue could move against my own.

            “Mmm,” I hummed between motions. Pulling away I finished the thought, “Point taken. You’re insecure and need your name shouted through all of _Tamriel_ apparently. Just take someone in each province. Much easier than—”

            He was obviously tired of talking. One finger flew up to my mouth, bidding me silent. “Shush. Shout my name or don’t but…” The finger moved to playfully tap my nose. “Just make sure that you know who you’re in bed with. I don’t like it when whoever I’m bedding invites another person along without my knowledge.” He winked at that and I couldn’t help but smile at him.

            “Scoundrel.” My hands slid down to resume what had been interrupted.

            Teldryn continued to sigh deeply. “Yes, yes. I’m a scoundrel, you _wicked_ woman. Now make us even.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was able to get out this chapter before school starts Monday. I flew through a ton of updates over the break and it paid off--we're nearing the last part of the story. I didn't have to edit this chapter a whole lot but the next one is going to take a bit more work to get it nicely published. There are some small callbacks here to lore in Bloodmoon (Morrowind expansion) but nothing that affects the story beyond reminding everyone we're in Solstheim (I really like Morrowind, okay?). Also, some other big things that happen in this chapter: dreaded, unwanted but also kind of wanted feelings. The hardest part about writing two characters like Rook and Teldryn is not slipping into full-blown romance because neither of them are the romantic type. Their relationship is meant to be deep but this isn't a romance story--tricky line to straddle. 
> 
> A big thank you to Unnatural_Obsession_With_Marvel and some lovely guests for leaving kudos! Another special thanks to SuFin20 for their kind words and helpful feedback! All of you have made my experience here at AO3 a lot of fun and meaningful.
> 
> Next chapter? Things... get bad. Yikes. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	34. Mar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! A long chapter, a long time between updates, and also things are happening. A couple of reasons why this chapter took a bit longer than expected:
> 
> 1\. Editing a longer chapter just takes more time in general.  
> 2\. Lots of dialogue in Dragon Tongue that I had to make sure was all translated and also that all that dialogue meant what I wanted to. When I originally published RoS, I didn't offer any translated versions of the dialogue because I can't remember.  
> 3\. Um. So, while all of US know that Miraak is the first Dragonborn, it hasn't been made explicit in the story thus far. There's only ONE mention of a first Dragonborn back in [Chapter 5: The Well-Lit Path] but no connection to Miraak. There is an upcoming chapter in which this information is important and the characters all talk like this is common knowledge. Big ol' YIKES there. So I either had to majorly alter previous chapters or make small changes to this one. I chose the latter option.
> 
> Okay! Shout outs to Catori1207, 15th_of_SunsDusk, Kira_Evangeline, and a bunch of lovely guests for the kudos. On a side note, Kira_Evangeline is a longtime reader, fan, and friend of mine who also betas for me when her busy schedule allows for it. Check out her Skyrim and Undertale fics over on ffnet! A super heaping of thanks to emeralddragons and Catori1207 for leaving such kind words. And a big hats off to SuFin20 for their marathon reading, proofreading, and commenting! Whew, you really flew through a whole bunch and I greatly appreciate it! Oh, and RoS has reached over 1500 visits, a milestone! Thank you all.
> 
> We're nearing the beginning of the end here, folks. 10 chapters left! Lots to wonder and speculate about. Sai seems like an off-hand mention in this chapter but it's important (UESP "Sai" might help out). I've been looking forward to developing Rook and Frea's relationship so I'm really happy to see these two ladies with one another again. But, geesh, still so many unanswered questions. Well, hopefully things start coming into focus. Next two chapters? Long and Teldryn POVs. Thanks for reading! - Ash
> 
> **Translation of the Dragon Tongue at the End Notes

“And this one?”         

            Groaning, I wedged in tighter into the crook of his arm. For once I was glad that nothing was on me—beads of sweat still lingering in the hollows of my body. “Every time I’m disrobed, you’re going to play this game?”

            Teldryn gave me a half-smile. He playfully walked his index and middle fingers down my shoulder and over my collar bone. “I’m open to other suggestions.” Before he could go any further, I lightly caught his hand so that it stopped just above my breast. No words were exchanged and I closed my eyes. The callouses on his palm and fingertips grazed me softly as I breathed in and out. There was no need to ask him what he was thinking about.

            “My hip is _fine_.” Despite my assertion, his hand left its resting spot and traveled down to the mottled bruise that now painted my side. He only had to feign the action of touch and I flinched.

            Teldryn frowned. “Yes, obviously fine.”

            Reaching out to touch his check, he pulled back and I smirked. “What? You wouldn’t want someone probing at _your_ bruises? Imagine that.”

            Delicately rubbing at the light bruise my slap had left, Teldryn shook his head. “Mine isn’t important for things like…” In mock contemplation, he cocked his head and squinted one eye. “Running? Walking? _Standing?_ ”

            I took a moment to placate him and shifted so that my good hip now took the brunt of all my weight. “Better?”

            Teldryn didn’t budge save to crane his neck and kiss a spot on my neck. He smiled and asked, “So where did you get this mark?”

            “From _you._ ” My hand flew to the place he had kissed, reddening as my mind reminded me of the blood he had raised to the surface of my pale throat—a dark mark had been left in its stead. Lifting myself up by my forearm I patted his thigh. “Come on now, we’ve wasted enough time.”

            Teldryn grabbed my arm and gently pulled me back down, my back flat against the ground. He rolled over on top of me, laughing. “No, no. I think we’ve still got enough time to throw away.” He settled into the curve of my neck and laid more soft kisses on the skin he had already worked over. I shared in his laughter after fighting the sensation for a second or so, kicking my legs half-heartedly against his and pushing against his lean chest. I heard him mumble, “You aren’t fighting me, are you? Because I think we both know how that usually ends.”

            “I’m serious!” I was able to gasp out in between my laughing. One of his hands wandered down my side, wrapped itself around my hip, and started to make its descent between my thighs. I snatched his wrist, frowning. “Teldryn. Please.”

            He relented, relaxing his body so that he was on all fours but still over me. A somber look clouded his face and his lips rested against my cheek, lingering there for a moment. “My apologies.”

            Using my forearms to lift myself up, my knees bent underneath him so that I could sit up a little. I shook my head. “It’s not that I wouldn’t _mind_ spending another hour or so shouting your name throughout the mountains,” I joked and he grinned a little at that.

            “But you’d like to get going.” Surprisingly, Teldryn took one of his hands and roughly brushed back the hair at the crown of my head, carding the strands through his fingers. “It’s always go, go, go with you.” He sealed the thought with a hard and brief kiss to my forehead. “But that’s perfectly alright.”

            There seemed to be an unspoken thought that was left hanging after his final word left his mouth, but he said nothing more. I cocked my head over to his kills. “Please don’t tell me you’re still planning on eating those.”

            Pushing up from his knees, still naked, he groaned. “ _Fiiiiiine_.” He picked up his smalls and breeches, tugging on both ungracefully. “But you’d better have something to tide me over until we reach the village.”

            Smirking at him, I motioned for him to throw my own clothes. “I might have something for you.” He honored my request by tossing the bundle at my face. “But,” I scrunched my nose at the odor of the roughspin fabric. “It might not be much.”  Sliding into my clothes, I briefly wondered how long they had smelled so badly.

            “Here,” he offered me his hand and I grasped his wrist and pulled myself upward. “And I’ll take whatever you have.”

            I sighed but complied by finding my pouch and digging out a slice of eidar cheese, ripe and fragrant. Tossing it to him, I reached back in to pull out a treat I had been saving for myself. Gleefully, my fingertips wrapped around the crème treat and felt the tip of my finger sink into the sweet custard in the center. I took a large bite, savoring the honeyed bread. When my lips met to lick the custard off my finger, I felt Teldryn watching me. “What?”

            “You had _that_ and you’ve given me cheese.” Despite his complaints, he took another bite of the wedge. “Despicable,” he mumbled.

            I licked off the rest of the sweet cream in unabashed delight. “Because I deserve it. Killing dragons is tough work.” Another bite and I hummed out an exaggerated purr of delight. “Mmmm! I’ve never had anything so _delicious_ ,” I mocked.

            “Horrible.” He shook his head. “ _Vile_.”

            I walked toward him and presented the half-eaten treat to his mouth. “If you’re going to be such a child about it, then _fine_.”

            He bit off a good portion and grinned as he chewed it excessively. “Mmmm! I jush can’ bereeve how goo dish is.” He swallowed and finished. “Especially knowing how much it irritates you.”

            “Look at the way you eat such a thing!” I exclaimed before shoving the rest of the treat in my mouth. Chewing slowly, I relished the last bite. “You wouldn’t know good food if it hit you in the face.”

            “To Oblivion with your good food. All that sugar must be going to your head if you think that’s a meal. Look at you.” As if to make his point he stepped toward me and wrapped his hands around my waist. “When’s the last time you had a real meal, hmm? Meat?”

            Good-naturedly, I shoved him off of me and began to gather my armor. “Yes, a first-rate supper fit for the emperor: rabbits.”

            “Oh, shush,” Teldryn picked up a few plates off of the ground and tugged a strap through a buckle. “You don’t find it a _little_ deplorable that your affections could be so easily won by a few desserts?”

            “Who said anything about my affections?” My hands worked to straighten out the pockets around me. It was a little amusing to find him so fascinated by my eating habits.

            “So you’re saying if a man brought you sweetrolls and honey nut treats and long taffy that you _wouldn’t_ swoon into his arms?” Teldryn made a dramatic motion, the back of his hand flying to his forehead and a palm to his chest. “‘Oh, handsome stranger! We’ve only just met but allow me to offer my own hand in marriage in exchange for a crème treat.’”

            Crossing my arms, I cocked a hip in annoyance. “Very funny.”

            “‘You’re a _baker_? Oh, take me now!’” With that he burst into peals of laughter.

            I raised an eyebrow. “Are you quite finished?”

            He waved at me, unable to speak through his laughing but nodded.

            “You’re impossible,” I sighed.

* * *

 

            _The madness must be taking over me in more subtle ways_.

I was giggling at something stupid Teldryn said. Catching myself, I inhaled sharply and flattened my mouth. This was ridiculous, me acting like a foolish girl in love. I had to shake my head to escape the unwanted thought. Instead I allowed myself to take in our surroundings, tugging the cloth over my mouth and attempting to stay warm.

            “This feels familiar,” I mused, retrieving my map. I cautiously stepped down a hill while reading it. Hearing a rush of water I halted and looked up.

            “Hmm?” he asked. He hadn’t stopped but had slowed.

            “I think this is near the Wind Stone which means we’re close to the village.”

Teldryn stepped back and look over his map, tapping at the water jutting into the island.

            “You’re forgetting.” His craggy voice killed my good mood.

I groaned and folded the map back into my pouch. There was no telling if the Skaal had even bothered repairing the gods damned bridge and I wasn’t willing to waste the time finding out.

            “We can just go around.” I continued walking but headed south instead. “It won’t take us much out of the way.” Holding up both hands with my fingers splayed out I added, “Ten minutes more. Tops.”

            He nodded and I could tell he was smiling. “As fun as this has been, I would welcome a bit of rest.”

            “We rested earlier.” I hopped down from a low jutting rock and my feet landed squarely in the hard-packed snow. The cold bit at my arms and an unnatural kind of warmth flushed over them—a painful red wash caused a bit of tenderness. On top of the temperature, a low wind was now inducing a slight numbness.

            He scoffed at my statement, “Ha! _Rested_. Is that what you call that?” There was another moment of stillness before he probed, “Why do you call yourself Rook?”

            The question made me stumble over a branch stuck in the snow and I fumbled to gain purchase on the ground. “Beg pardon?” I coughed out.

            Counting on his fingers he explained, “You don’t like being called Elyrrya. I’m sure you aren’t fond of Dragonborn. There must be a reason for why you decided to name yourself after a…” There was a thoughtful pause. “Whatever a rook is.”

            “A bird.” I made a half-hearted flapping motion with my arms. “You know, birds.”

             “Not any bird I know of.” He sounded suspicious. “I think you’re making it up.”

            Sighing, I continued strolling along and explained, “They’re like ravens but have been long gone from this world, before people knew about them.”

            I watched him lazily kick a pack of snow. “Then how is it you do? I think dealing with Elder Scrolls and gods have addled your mind.” He made a fist and knocked on his helm.

            “No, no,” I chuckled. “It’s something silly.” A hot redness filled my cheeks. “Stupid really. For all I know rooks never even existed. I mean, it was just some foolish thing.” I should have just lied to him, gave him some fantastic story about how a god gave me the name. In true form, he caught on to my embarrassment.

            “Come now, tell me,” he demanded nicely. His arm wrapped around my waist and broadened his smile.

            Shaking my head I could feel my face beginning to burn brightly. Briefly, I feared my blood would ignite my mask. “It’s stupid,” I repeated, yanking off my hood and shaking out my hair. If I had hoped that the air would cool my face, I was sorely disappointed. I didn’t remove my mask for fear of the wind. “Really, it’s not worth—” and like the blessing and curse my life was, I heard the flap of mighty wings before the shout. “—down!”

            Both Teldryn and I dropped into the snow. We must have been thinking similarly because as my arm wrapped around him, his arm tried to cover me. A whirlwind of hot energy barely missed us as the dragon came into view, somewhat lazily flying in circles over us like a carrion-eater biding its time until we were dead. Behind my back, Teldryn’s hand grazed me as he threw an atronach in the direction of the beast.  Following his lead, I tossed out Arniel to join it as I jumped to my feet. When he got to his feet, I pushed him in the opposite direction. “Run! When it comes back around, attack from behind.”

            No questions, he tore off at a sprint and unsheathed his sword. I snapped my fingers and I pulled back on the bow I had conjured, aiming for the dragon that was now working on descending upon me. “That’s right…” It gained speed and the first arrow loosed, the shot missing its intended target. The dragon was coming in fast now, the wings folded inward and nose pointed straight at me. I threw the bow back to Oblivion. “Oh gods, this is going to hurt.” I unsheathed the closest physical weapon on my person: the Blade of Woe.

            Luckily, my timing was just right so that when it pummeled into me the dagger found its mark underneath the soft flesh of its throat. Unluckily, I was momentarily trapped as it writhed in pain; not wanting to waste the opportunity I held the dagger tightly and slashed wildly, my arms being painfully twisted in angles never intended. Instinctively and uselessly, I kicked at its throat. There was no possible way for me to effectively aim because my eyes were closed shut in an effort to keep the dragon’s blood from spilling into them. Not that it was any help. I was covered in the hot, sticky liquid—the snow around me only served to spread it around. Mercifully, something caught its attention and the beast snapped its head to the side.

            I seized the opportunity to roll out from underneath. Covered in blood but no worse for wear, my mind was made up: I had to learn how to bend a dragon’s will right now. No getting it wrong. Digging my heels into the snow for support, a thick lump of anxiety became lodged in my throat. “ _Gol_ …”  I weakly blurted. I cursed. The dragon snapped at something again and there was the sickening crack of bone accompanied by a sound that was simultaneously new yet familiar: a gut-wrenching scream. Teldryn.

            An odd sort of calm fell over me. My feet were finally feeling the biting cold of the snow packed around them. I finally recognized that dragon’s blood was covering me from head to toe. My hair was plastered to my neck and face. When I tried tugging some strands behind my ears, my fingers streaked more blood across my face. I was _annoyed_. That was it, pure and simple. The only action I wanted to take was to treat the intelligent creature like a pet: grab it by the scruff of its neck and grind its muzzle into the ground, painfully. I had a burning desire to debase the beast by giving it no further regard than I would a stray dog. Something sizzled in my mind, unknown and strange. It felt… _off_.

            No extra effort required, a force left me and a weight lifted from my shoulders. “ _GOL… HAH DOV_!” And with that the dragon’s eyes glossed over and it turned to face me. I felt a wicked smile cross my face without my permission.

            A force swirled around me so that I could see snow from the ground gently lifting up around my feet. Sheathing my dagger, I strolled around the dragon, its gaze following me as I moved. I calmly looked down upon Teldryn, regarding the protruding bone from his leg and the blood slathered all over his armor as boring facts. Despite how painful it looked, he seemed occupied with keeping a hold of his sword. I took off my mask. Bending downward, I yanked it from him. His grasp was weak and he shifted, oblivious that his leg was snapped in two.

            “Don’t you dare take my sword,” he growled, half in pain and half in warning. As if finally realizing his leg was injured, his arms shot out to hold his thigh and he hissed through his teeth.

            “ _Wo kos hiu wah loan zu?_ ” I demanded, knowing he wouldn’t understand. Bending down fully so my arms could rest on my thighs, I let his sword dangle lazily from my hand. I used my other hand to pull down his kerchief, the blood on my hands raking down his cheeks. Yanking his helm off, I didn’t feel quite in control of myself.  “ _Zu’u Faal Dovthur, Faal Dovkriid, Faal Dovahkiin, fahliil_ , _”_ I spat out. Teldryn’s eyes searched my face—a wash of fear, confusion, and pain covering his own. Ignoring him, I lifted myself. To the dragon, I raised the sword. “ _Arhk wo kos hiu, dov? Gein se Miraak?”_

            Opening its mouth, the dragon croaked out something unintelligible. A moment passed before I realized that my work under its throat had damaged something vital.

“ _Krentdov!”_ I laughed. I shoved the sword into the nearest stretch of flesh that spread across a wing, dragging it slowly downward. The dragon either didn’t feel the pain or was trying its best to resist me. “ _Dreh hiu nid zul fah him briinah?”_ Another stab and I broke bones that were now useless scaffolding for flight. The nauseating crunch was louder than I would have suspected.

            “Common if it pleases you, you gods damned woman!” I heard Teldryn grit through his teeth behind me. He grunted in another shout of pain.

            I didn’t even bother looking at him as I barked, “ _KOS NAHLOT, FAHLIIL!”_ The dragon was entranced by my words. “ _Zeymah_ ,” I mocked. “ _Wo kos hiu?”_ A vile feeling came over me, knowing it could not answer. It was more than a little disquieting. My Dov tongue was fair but I was speaking some words that I _knew_ I had never learned. Despite that, I kept on although against my own volition. My legs strode in long, easy paces along the length of the dragon and offered, “ _Voviing? Vozul? Vofen_?” Those really struck at the beast’s pride. I could see his anger simmering behind the cage it was locked in. It planned to eat me bite by bite if ever freed.

            “ _Draal arkh bolog fah aan brit dinak._ ” Another twist of the blood-stained and golden sword into the tender side of the creature. _“Kril._ ” I dug the sword in deeper into its leathery flesh before sliding it out and then plunging it into a new spot. “ _Sahrot_.”

            The sword glided out easily and I strolled over to the head of the giant, its glassy eye now facing me. It hated me. It feared me. That was all I needed.

            “ _Fen ni ofan hiu aan dinak ful voth orin dun. Ni nau daar Lein.”_

And I pierced its eye with everything I had, my arm in pain from the force behind my motion—the dragon uttered a guttural sound, the blood in its throat gurgling and popping. The snow was stained so dark that it looked black. Even as it disintegrated, my mind wasn’t on who was going to claim its soul but rather the murky, obscure feeling that had risen to my mind’s surface and it reminded me of the first dragon I tried to control. Unnatural. My self-control was slowly returning and I felt a little sickened by what I had done. Despite the regret, there was a dull headache throbbing at my temples.

            Remorse inundated me and a whisper left my lips. The sound vanished with the gold and silver flecks that flew into the sky, disappearing into the light. “ _Krosis._ ” The apology seemed trite and petty after what I had just done. Falling to my knees, I couldn’t tear my gaze from the skeleton twisted around me. My fingertips grazed the hard snow and they raked anxiously against the ice. The dragon’s blood was seeping into the snow from my armor. To myself, “ _Oh_ …” I pulled myself upward. “What have I _done_?” And then a moment of horrified realization struck me with a force harder than the dragon had: Teldryn. If he wasn’t dead already, I would be pleasantly shocked.

            Rushing to his side I found him pale, clammy and cold. What little strength he had before was long gone. Both arms laid across his midsection but were sliding slowly off and his head laid half buried in the snow, eyes closed.

            “Teldryn Sero.” I shook him violently and it seemed to jar him a little.

            His eyelids fluttered. “Hmm? Oh, it’s you. I was just taking a nap.” His usually strong and craggy voice took on a frailer, muted tone.

            I placed two fingers to the side of his neck and found his pulse weak but still struggling to push through. “Quiet,” I ordered as I shifted to the leg that had been subjected to the vice of the dragon’s mouth. “Last thing I need is for your last words to be something foolish.” His leg was in terrible condition: a clean, white bone jutted out from his armor. There was a fair bit of blood but most of the damage was swaddled inside his chitin armor, one of his prides and joys. There was the possibility that what I had to do next would be more painful for him than his leg.

            I wiped my gloves against my thighs and took care to not bump or scrape any of the offending bone. The blood that was drying against his armor gave me a little more traction as I took the first plate of the broken armor and snapped it free; the crack resounded throughout the emptiness around us and Teldryn’s incoherent ramblings stopped momentarily.

            “What was that?” he barely mumbled.

            I snapped another piece off and unsheathed my dagger so I could begin cutting away his armor and breeches from midthigh down. “Me attempting to save your sorry life,” I growled, one hand sawing through the fabric and plates furiously. “I need you to be _quiet_.” Purposefully, I pushed my own blossoming pain in my head underneath the calm I was desperately attempting to capture. If being in a war had taught me anything, it was the value of keeping a level head in situations where a person’s life lay in the fickle balance of a drunken god’s scales.

            This wasn’t anything new. Plenty of Stormcloak soldiers had been injured in the heat of battle. It didn’t do to leave them bleeding and dying because, ultimately, we would need them for a later battle. I once joked to Galmar that we would have better luck letting them die and pay a necromancer to raise them from the dead so we could have them again. His only response was, “As if we need another gods damned mage in our army.”

            Teldryn kept muttering about something or another while I dug out a plethora of potions, salves, and balms from my pouch. My concern grew steadily more desperate as I uncorked a few of the liquids. My hands shook as I poured it over his now exposed wound. As the potion met the ragged and torn flesh, there was a slight hiss and it bubbled up into a foam around the edges of his bone. I heard a sharp intake of breath and had to come to terms with the fact I had nothing that was going to assuage what I had to do next. “Teldryn?”

            “And les be hones’…” he kept on before realizing I wanted his attention. “Hmm?”

            Yanking off my gloves, I twisted open one of the salves and rubbed it generously into my palms and in between my fingers. “This isn’t something I can just throw a healing spell over. The only good that would serve is if I planned on chopping it off.” Looking over at him, I seriously offered, “Which I could if you’d like.”

            “Ha!” His addled mind was deprived of so much blood, his babbling bordered on anxious excitement. “That would be a sight: a one-legged mercenary and a mad woman.” Another weak, anxious chuckle.

            An impatient sigh escaped my lips. I wasn’t going to waste my breath or precious time. I had to make a quick decision and he was too confused to provide any input. Deciding that his preference would probably be to have both legs, I grabbed the two sections of his disjointed leg and slammed my whole body down on the protruding bone. Without a sound, his body went as limp as a ragdoll and I breathed a sigh of momentary relief. Sudden, unexpected agony had done him a favor. Passed out, my job was made a modicum easier but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. I slathered the salve on my hand over the wound on his leg, allowing my fingers to work over the swelling around the muscles and the deep wound. As if he wasn’t cold enough, the snow was working against me. Dipping two fingers into the open jar, I scooped out another slick glob and worked it over the blood-soaked flesh.

            My heart wouldn’t still. Every second that I rubbed and poured and fretted was a second I was losing to time. My headache and thoughts only served to increase my fear; I could feel the obsessive thoughts lingering in the back of my mind, demanding my attention to stop focusing on Teldryn’s leg and give into the need to control, control, control…

            I slammed my fists into the snow around me, one of my knuckles meeting a rock in the ground. “You want _control_?” I screamed out to nothing in particular. “Then control his life force, dominate this worthless man’s existence!” My thoughts needed no more urging than the promise of manipulation of a weak mortal to prompt my hand to fumble for a magick potion and down it so fervently that streams of it dribbled out the side of my mouth. I could have never imagined how much I planned to drain my own vitality, both hands forcibly snatching bundles of gold tangles. My breathing slowly grew ragged and I had to force it to settle, building the warmth into the edges of my extremities, shoving the glow further and further around me. There was enough force to lift some of my fly away hairs—they whipped against me, thick with clotted blood.

            I exhaled and some release was achieved in my mind. It wasn’t enough and Teldryn needed more. I threw back another magick potion and started to climb the sensation again, another grand healing spell working its way into another shining frenzy. Even my hip was feeling some of the relief. Looking over at Teldryn’s face and back at his leg, I frowned. The rising and falling of his chest was becoming more and more shallow, his flesh becoming ashen. This wasn’t enough. Paying full attention to my own body, I felt my pulse race and my heart speed up uncomfortably.

“Stupid luck was all it was,” I muttered to an unconscious Teldryn. “Your stupid, foolish luck. It all comes down to luck, you know.” Another healing spell washed over both of us and another magick potion slid down my throat. “But lucky for unlucky you, I’m lucky.” I cackled, unnerving myself. “Just the three of us, all of us lucky. Blind, stupid, unknown force of luck.” And another magick potion followed another spell. I brought the empty bottle upward in a toast.  “Thanks to Sai,” I joked but could feel the force inside me run out of my limited control. I briefly wondered who in Oblivion Sai was but Teldryn’s breathing was almost non-existent and my panic caused me to lose what little control I did have.

“More time!” I screeched. “I need more, give me more!” Grabbing two magick potions, I chugged both down, half-choking as more screaming followed another spell. “MORE _GODS DAMNED_ TIME!” I could feel tears streaming down my face as I choked on the blue liquid. The coughing quickly turned into wet breathing—heavy and ineffective. “ _TIME_!”

I grasped my abdomen in pain as my mind flourished with the sudden idea that I couldn’t have more but I could stretch out what I already had. Or rather Teldryn’s. With the very last shred of sanity available, I gave into the compulsion for the need to shout. “ _TIID… KLO UL_!”

And just like that, a weight lifted from my mind and I had been pulled out of time for a moment. The world became muted as a tight sphere of reality formed around me and me alone. Really, it was a matter of commanding time to create a separate experience for myself. While the world was stuck in the lethargy that my shout had incited, I could move as freely as I liked. Without another moment to spare, I emptied another healing potion onto his leg while flexing my hands.

“But Teldryn Sero,” I whispered weakly. “You still aren’t lucky enough to get stuck with a master of restoration.” There was no possible way for me to compel the magicka link to allow me to cast another grand healing spell. The best I could do was another, weaker healing spell. “No, you’re stuck with me.” I was shaking, the shock of energy that had pushed me now crashing and leaving me weaker than ever.

 Time was still lurching along slowly so I took another slow swallow of potion, casting the spell again. “And, just between you and me, Colette was close to failing me in all my restoration classes.” Tugging off my armor, I pulled off enough to feel the cold through my thin, roughspin shirt. Clutching the edge, I began to rip at the shirt in such a way that makeshift bandages were wrapping around my hand. “But don’t worry,” I consoled his unconscious body while I wrapped a good portion of my shirt around my hand for later use. “It was only because I compared restoration to necromancy.” When I had torn off enough to expose the lower parts of my ribcage, I stepped over him to get a better vantage point. “Ok, maybe not just _that_.”

Lifting his cold leg so that I could reach underneath, I tried to ignore the fact that despite all my efforts, the flesh was still badly lacerated. Winding the cloth tightly around his shin, my hands braced the area where his bone had snapped. There was nothing around us for me to create a strong splint; I tore off the half of the bandage that was already around his leg and tied it off. I fumbled around my pouch for something, _anything_ that I could use to brace the wound for me.

“You know,” I grumbled as my fingers flew through coins and gems and lockpicks and a plethora of now useless items. “If _my_ leg had snapped in two, I wouldn’t have passed out. Nor would it take this much effort to heal me.” Sighing, I resigned myself to grabbing the only thing I could think of: my copy of _The Book of the Dragonborn._ “Because I’m the Dragonborn.”

Taking my dagger I sawed at the thick, vellum-covered board and—once the front cover was off—tearing at the other bindings by hand. For some gods damned reason, I was sentimental about the thing and so I crammed the loose pages back into my pouch. After I had positioned the covers beside his leg, I finished binding them and tied off the bandage again. Looking over my work, I grimaced. It wasn’t great but I could feel timelines returning to normal. Both the world and I met up again, time settling back into its usual pace. I didn’t dare tear my gaze from Teldryn’s chest until I saw it rise and fall a little more deeply. My legs swung around again and crawled so that I could reach up and unbuckle his cuirass. Sliding it off, I shoved it into my pouch and apologized to him for the inconvenience. Lowering my head, I placed my ear to his heart and placed a hand on his wrist. Both his pulse and his heart seemed to be beating steadily now, albeit weakly. Glancing at his face, a strange feeling overtook me. I was so used to people leaving me, dying. He had almost been killed because of me and I desperately wanted him to be someone that never left me.

“Please,” I begged in a whisper. I gave him no further words because I knew what I meant.

I shrugged back into my armor. When I sat back up against my heels, I considered my options. This was far from an ideal situation. He needed to be warm and not to be moved but I couldn’t give him both at the moment. There was no possible way that I could start a fire out here and the nearest help was at least another few minutes away. Grabbing his sword and sheathing it into the scabbard of my belt, I rose upward. With relatively little choice, I bent over and gently rolled him onto his side. A little more awkwardly than I would have liked, I had to step over him again and stoop sideways to grasp his wrists. As I rose against my thighs to lift him upward, I could feel my hip ready to give and my weight shifted to compensate.

“And in the future…” I adjusted his arms so that they crossed around my neck and my foot took a cautious step forward. My knees were bent but buckling against the weight of his body on my back. “ _If_ you live.” My other foot slipped a little on an icy patch and I nearly fell with his unconscious body on top of me. “We’re going to be even. No more of this ‘Remember that time I carried your arse?’”

My hip was aching but I willed it to press on.

* * *

 

The hot bile rising in the back of my throat burned like acid. Swallowing down vomit, a feeling of dizziness and disorientation washed over me again. My eyes blurred and I thought I could hear the faint sound of voices but I couldn’t be sure if they were real or just my imagination. All the potion had gone straight to my head and was catching up with me now. “Sero, if you can hear me just give me a sign.” And once again, there was no answer from him. I couldn’t even tell if the body I was carrying was dead or not, my own breathing so belabored that there was no possible way to feel his own inhalation against my back.

            Heavy step followed heavy step. Another bead of sweat mixed with dragon’s blood rolled uncomfortably by my eye and I blinked furiously to dislodge it from my view. The voices and rabble grew steadily louder. “HELP!” My own shouting sounded weak and dry. “ _ANYONE_?”

I heard someone yell out and a louder din came from above the hill. A thundering of boots rolled down and I dropped to my knees, doing my best to allow my body to bear the brunt of the force that Teldryn’s body was going to take. Rolling out from under him, I clutched my stomach and brought my knees to my chest as it cramped again. I was going to be sick and staving off the feeling was making it worse.

            Someone’s hands clamped onto my shoulders and there was fervent, desperate yelling at me. It was a man’s voice. He might have been asking me what happened but I felt as if I was underwater. Rolling onto my knees, my stomach heaved again and a combination of potion and bile hit hot against the frozen ground, leaving the taste of something rotted in my mouth. I heaved again at the flavor but only my muscles contracted. Another person was holding me, tugging underneath my arms and suddenly my feet were swept off the ground. The smell of leather engulfed me, warmth hidden in the folds of the fur and body that was carrying me. Involuntarily, my head rested in the crook of the person’s arms and I thought I could hear another voice shout at Teldryn. Against the thick coat I mumbled, “Don’t bother. He’s dead.” My eyes heavily dropped closed.

* * *

 

            I yelped in displeasure and surprise as a bucket of scalding hot water was dumped over my head. Another layer of grime and blood washed off of me and Frea clapped.

            “Out, out!” Her hands latched onto my arm and gently guided me upward. “Now that we have the worst of it off of you, maybe now you can have a proper bath.”

            Finna wrapped a clean woolen blanket around me and patted me dry, reached around and rubbed more dirt off of me. Clicking her tongue, she admonished. “If my child ever came home as filthy as you I would have her jump in the sea first.”

            All I really wanted was to sleep but Frea shook her head, stripping my clothes off of me expertly like a mother would a daughter. “There is no way I would let you sleep on my _floor_ much less a bed. You can sleep when you are clean.”

            And so she and a woman named Finna set to work scrubbing at the dried blood and dirt that was caked on me and in my hair. Finna was a mother of a child in the village and it showed; every request she made of me sounded like a command and I wasn’t about to say no to her. Her hands deftly combed through my hair, painfully and roughly untangling the knots and skeever’s nests that had bundled at my scalp. I didn’t dare complain but rather took every sharp tug willingly and silently.

            Frea came back from dumping the tub of water outside. She and Finna hurriedly hauled one of the many kettles of water that was boiling over the hot coals and dumped it into the empty tub, water splashing out over the sides. Finna grabbed my arm and patted my backside. “In you go.”

            I bit my tongue and obediently sat, the heat stinging at my flesh. Both women had stripped down to their roughspin clothes so as to not get their furs wet. Both plunged their hands into another bucket filled with thick lye soap that smelled like goat’s milk. While Finna rubbed her fingers through my hair and roughly massaged my scalp, Frea went to work with a soft, bristled brush scrubbing away at my already red and irritated skin. I hissed through my teeth but clamped my mouth so as to not disturb them.

            “How are you feeling?” Frea moved from one arm to my back and bid me to bend over.

            There wasn’t a single part of me that didn’t feel absolutely strained or sore or simply miserable. I wasn’t about to tell her that. “Fine,” I mumbled.

            “Liar. Come now.” Her hand slipped under the water and raised one of my legs, my body instinctively tilting backwards with her action. “Edla is going to be here shortly after she takes care of your companion. It will not do to keep anything from her. We only wish to help you.”

The bristles grazed across the bottoms of my feet and I burst out into a giggle. “Stop that!” I finally relented, giving into my protests.

Finna hummed amusedly and Frea grinned at me, still scrubbing roughly. “Well, it is a good thing Alduin did not know you were ticklish or we would all be ruled by dragons right now.”

Finna tugged a comb through my hair and tears welled at the corners of my eyes, distracting me from my feet. “Ow!” My hand instinctively jerked to the pain at my scalp but Finna only swatted me away.

“You’re worse than Aeta. At least _that_ child can stay clean for the most part.”

I stayed silent, save for a few grumbling sounds here and there. After a few more minutes, I answered Frea truthfully. “Horrible. I feel like I’ve been dropped from a cliff. My stomach is eating itself, my head is spinning.” I bent forward involuntarily just talking about it. “I probably drank half my weight in potions.”

Frea stopped scrubbing, obviously finished. “When was the last time you ate?”

I rolled my eyes. As if Teldryn wasn’t bad enough. “Earlier today. I’ve been busy.”

As if she didn’t believe me, her head shook. “I meant _really_ eat.”

One last tug and Finna smoothed out my wet but untangled hair. “Or even slept? Is this how your mother raised you?”

I ignored Finna. “If you already know the answer, why bother me?” Frea bid me to sit up but I snapped at her, “Why are you two treating me like a _child_?”

Frea didn’t say anything but Finna wasn’t quite as shy. “What in the name of the All-Maker is wrong with you, Dragonborn?” Before I could protest, she continued to scold me. “You’re sick. You’re half-starved. You’re _filthy_. We,” her finger waved between herself and Frea, “only want to take care of you.” She brought a clean woolen blanket to my hair and twisted and pulled out the water lodged in the strands.

Frea finally spoke. “Dragonborn. Rook. I am charged with the spiritual well-being of my people. You are not Skaal but certainly Skaal-friend.”

“Ha!” I snorted. “Yes. Me allowing your father to die was very _friendly_ of me.”

Frea’s eyes met mine and she asked Finna to leave.

“I’ll check on her companion. All-Maker only knows what kind of trouble Aeta is causing for Edla,” Finna offered and closed the door behind her.

“You did not kill my father. Herma-Mora did. He is forcing you to serve him and I cannot blame you for doing what you must. Here,” she offered her arms so I could step out, water dripping from my body while Frea wrapped yet another blanket around me.

“Oh yes, Storn trusted me to make his sacrifice worthwhile and I’ve done _wonders_ with that,” my voice dripping with regret. “Hermaeus gave me everything I needed and I’m too weak to use it.” My hands were gripping the blanket around me so tightly that my knuckles were white. Not even bothering to dry off fully, I trudged over to the bed Frea pointed to and flopped. “Among other things.”

Sighing, Frea sat beside me and took the blanket from me, drying off the parts of my body she found unacceptably damp. “I will not pretend that the death of my father does not upset me still. _However,_ how can you ever hope to defeat Miraak, thwart Herma-Mora, if you do not do your best? Instead you run yourself into the ground.” She brought the blanket to my face and gingerly rubbed at a cheek. My heart fell a little as I watched her frown deepen. “Is this how you defeated Alduin?”

“No,” I whispered the admission. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I half-lied. “Being here, dealing with Miraak is doing something _to_ me. I can’t control it.” No good was going to come of this conversation by admitting that helping Hermaeus was the main cause. The blanket moved roughly between my breasts, absorbing the water pooling uncomfortably there. “Your father is dead and I’ve not honored that.”

She brushed my hair back with a hand and fluffed the ends with a drier part of the blanket. For a long while she didn’t speak but continued to dry me, pulling and pushing at my arms and my legs. Sighing and breathing in deeply, I almost thought that we were finished talking when I heard her say, “You need to rest. Anything I say is going to fall on deaf ears. You are not well.”

I didn’t argue. My body was ready to pass out onto the bed and not wake until the next Era. My body shifted to allow her to pull out the covers from underneath me. Sliding my legs under, I could already feel my eyes betray me. I yawned and nodded. She covered me and smoothed my hair against my head.

“Sleep,” was the last thing I heard before drifting off again.

* * *

 

            “ _Thuri_ , _alok_.”

            Cold was an understatement. Curled into the snow, I must have fallen asleep with only the thick cloak of the Greybeards to shield me from howling, wind. The chill had sunken into the marrow of my bones.

            Disoriented, I rose to my knees. “Odahviing?” Searching the dragon’s face, I found nothing helpful. “The Throat of the World?”

            “ _Monahven_ , Thuri,” he corrected, snorting in distaste. “ _Dovthur wo ni mindok ek tinvaak.”_

            “Odahviing,” I sighed, bringing two fingers to my temple, gingerly rubbing them. “Common, _zu’u bolog_.”

            And with a mighty thrust of wings, he hopped over to me and snapped lightly. A hot wave of sulfur and something leathery hit me. “ _Hio Faal Dovthur_. _Kos Dovthur. Vovahzah Dovahkiin? Krii, vaaz, REL. Filok ok suleyk.”_

            My confusion was compounding. I could only understand bits and pieces of what he was trying to tell me. Odahviing did this at times, forcing me to learn the _Dov_ tongue. But I understood his name for me: _Thuri_. I was stupid at one time, believing it to be a cute pet name. That was until I realized that Paarthurnax shared a common word: _thur_.

            _Thur, thur, thur._

            All I could assure him of was, “ _Zu’u thur do Dov_ —”

            “— _ahrk DOVAAR.”_ The interruption sounded important but I couldn’t understand. “ _Mindok, Thuri.”_

“Know _what_?”

            And as if to give me some measure of mercy, Odahviing gently growled at me, “The _First_. The First Dragonborn. _Aar do Dov._ A priest.”

            And in my half-lucid state, a wild thought came to me. “Miraak.”

            Odahviing gave me a wicked, toothy grin.

            Oh.

            Miraak wasn’t just _any_ Dragonborn. The First.

            And I was the Last.

* * *

 

            Waking with a start, the oppressive heat felt suffocating. My breathing felt steady enough though. I blinked, my thoughts more than slightly clouded. When my bearings were a little more stable, I remembered where I was. My hands drew the covers up around me tighter and I heard Frea moving about. She must have picked up on the sounds of my shifting because her head popped in from around the corner.

            “You are up.” The surprise in her voice was not subtle.

            “Yes, it seems like that’s the case.”

            “You’ve been asleep for five days straight.”

            My stomach dropped and I threw back the covers, my legs flinging themselves off the bed. “Where are my things? I need to get to Neloth—he’s been working on something for me.”

            Frea gently pushed me back down onto the bed and I suddenly flushed at the realization that my nakedness was on display. I threw the covers over myself. “No,” she argued. “You are going to sit and eat.”

            “Eat? I’m not—” my stomach growled loudly and cramped. “…hungry,” I weakly finished.

            Frea sighed and left me for a moment, coming back with a large bowl of rabbit and apple stew. “Do not make me get Finna back to feed you,” she half-joked but I could still hear the warning underneath.

            Obediently, I shoveled the spoon into my mouth. There was instant gratification and I pushed the spoon aside, bringing the whole bowl to my mouth. Frea chuckled at me. “Wha?” I mumbled between slurps.

            “Is this what it takes to get you to listen to someone? Trudging through the middle of Evening’s Star carrying a half-dead man on your back?”

            At the first mention of Teldryn, I had to hold back the urge to ask how he was but I decided against it. “Is it already the end of the year?”

            She nodded, “And soon it will be the beginning.” Sitting down beside me, she picked up the spoon I had discarded and held it in her hands, twisting it this way and that. “Baldor says you rescued him a few months ago.”

            Tilting the bowl back, more hot broth flowed down my throat. I thoughtfully chewed on a few stray pieces of meat. “Not on purpose. Why?”

From seemingly out of nowhere, Frea observed, “You must have had a family once. Somewhere to call home. People who loved you. Who you loved. At one point you weren’t the Dragonborn.” She didn’t look up from the spoon but I could feel her waiting for my response.

 I didn’t say anything, unable to figure out what Frea was trying to tell me. “If this is about your father…”

“I only mean to say is that despite being blessed by the All-Maker with a higher purpose than some of us, you are still only a Man: mortal, vulnerable. You know the value of life.” When I scoffed at that, she tsked at me, “I saw you in Miraak’s temple, when you discovered the remains of those dragons. You protected us against the dragon that attacked us.”

“You should have seen me earlier,” I whispered, morbidly ashamed at myself.

Shaking her head I thought I saw a tear roll down her face. “My father, Storn, he knew he was going to die. He told me.” I couldn’t listen to this but I had no choice. “And I told him that I knew you could save him, all of us.”

            Shockingly, I felt my arm move of its own volition and place a hand on her arm in comfort. “I can’t save anyone,” I apologized.

            When she looked up at me, I was confused by the silly grin on her face. “And he said you would say that. My father barely knew you but he had the full measure of you. ‘She is not malicious, malevolent. Selfish and thoughtless and careless, but never evil.’ That is what he told me.”

            If I had any words for her, they were staying hidden.

            “But,” Frea continued, “I did not understand until this moment. Or rather when we found you face down in the snow. You are so damned selfish.” Another small bout of laughter and she shook her head. “Do you think us so incapable?”

            And now I was so confused that I couldn’t follow her thoughts. “What?”

            “You do, I see it. And I have been so _angry_ at you,” she placed a hand on top of mine that had not moved. “I thought about the moment I would see you again, all the words I would shout and throw but I cannot.” The warmth of her hand rubbed against me and she ended it with a pat. “Storn saw it. You do not think that anyone _but_ you has the ability to save the us, the world.”

            And it was my turn to laugh. “ _What?_ I don’t want to _save_ anyone, anything.”

But she didn’t explain. Instead Frea reached for the bowl. “Would you like more?”

            Again, my body moved against my will, my head vigorously nodding. “Yes, please,” I heard the words come out of my mouth before I could stop them.

            Frea smiled and left to get me more. “Oh,” she called out. “In case you were wondering, your companion is fine. Edla seemed _very_ impressed at your work.”

            I mumbled some unintelligible sound. “Good to hear.”

            “Is that all?” she sat back onto the bed and handed me the bowl. “From what I understand, his first words were to wonder where you were. Or we assumed so. Elyrrya does not exactly sound like a Dunmer name.”

            My hands had hungrily brought the bowl to my mouth but at the mention of my name I began to choke on my stew. While I was coughing to dislodge an apple slice, Frea patted my back and softened her smile.

            “Come now. I think it suits you,” she smoothed out my hair affectionately, “A nice strong name from the old era. No one has that kind of name anymore.”

            “No one will have any more Dragonborns,” I finished her thought. A little more openly than I meant to be, I admitted, “I don’t like it. Reminds me too much of my mother.” I shut myself up by slurping another gulp of soup. Finishing the bowl, I went to stand and she placed a hand on my shoulder.

            “It is the middle of the night,” Frea explained, realizing my intentions. “Just settle back into bed and sleep some more.”

            I frowned but obeyed. With my head on the straw pillow, I finally warned, “Don’t you dare let me sleep past dawn.”  And I found sleep easily again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the translation for all of the Dragon tongue:
> 
> “Who are you to question me?” I demanded, knowing he wouldn’t understand. “I am the Dragon overlord, the Dragon Slayer, the Dragonborn, elf,” I spat out. To the dragon, I raised the sword. “And who are you, dragon? One of Miraak’s?”  
> Opening its mouth, the dragon croaked out something unintelligible. A moment passed before I realized that my work under its throat had damaged something vital. “Broken dragon!” I laughed and I shoved the sword into the nearest stretch of flesh that spread across a wing, dragging it slowly downward. The dragon either didn’t feel the pain or was trying its best to resist me. “Have you no voice for your sister?” Another stab and I broke bones that were now useless scaffolding for flight.  
> I didn’t even bother looking at him as I barked, “BE SILENCED, ELF!” The dragon was entranced by my words. “Brother,” I mocked, “Who are you?” A wicked smile overtook me, knowing it could not answer. My legs strode in long, easy paces along the length of the dragon and offered, “Wingless? Voiceless? Willless?” Those really struck at the beast’s pride; I could see his anger simmering behind the cage it was locked in. It planned to eat me bite by bite if ever freed.  
> “Pray and beg for a beautiful death.” Another twist of the blood-stained and golden sword into the tender side of the creature. “Brave.” I dug the sword in deeper into its leathery flesh before sliding it out and then plunging it into a new spot. “Mighty.”  
> The sword glided it out easily and I strolled over to the head of the giant, its glassy eye now facing me. It hated me. It feared me. That was all I needed.  
> “I will not give you a death quite so graceful. Not on this world.”  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> “Thuri, arise.”  
> Cold was an understatement. Curled into the snow, I must have fallen asleep with only the thick cloak of the Greybeards to shield me from howling, wind. The chill had sunken into the marrow of my bones.  
> Disoriented, I rose to my knees. “Odahviing?” Searching the dragon’s face, I found nothing helpful. “The Throat of the World?”  
> “Monahven, Thuri,” he corrected, snorting in distaste. “Dragonkind overlord doesn’t know her speech.”  
> “Odahviing,” I sighed, bringing two fingers to my temple, gingerly rubbing them. “Common, I beg.”  
> And with a mighty thrust of wings, he hopped over to me and snapped lightly. A hot wave of sulfur and something leathery hit me. “You are the Dragonkind overlord. Be the Dragonkind overlord. The False Dragonborn? Kill, tear, dominate. Escape his power.  
> My confusion was compounding. I could only understand bits and pieces of what he was trying to tell me. Odahviing did this at times, forcing me to learn the Dov tongue. But I understood his name for me: Thuri. I was stupid at one time, believing it to be a cute pet name. That was until I realized that Paarthurnax shared a common word: thur.  
> Thur, thur, thur.  
> All I could assure him of was, “I am the overlord of Dragonkind—”  
> “—and of Dragonkind’s servents.” The interruption sounded important but I couldn’t understand. “Know, Thuri.”  
> “Know what?”  
> And as if to give me some measure of mercy, Odahviing gently growled at me, “The First. The First Dragonborn. Aar do Dov. A priest.”  
> And in my half-lucid state, a wild thought came to me. “Miraak.”  
> Odahviing gave me a wicked, toothy grin.  
> Oh.  
> Miraak wasn’t just any Dragonborn. The First.  
> And I was the Last.


	35. Teldryn Interlude XI: Part I

“Common if it pleases you, you gods damned woman!” The force I used to yell at her brought on another sharp, unbearable pain. I couldn’t make out a word she was saying. When Rook addressed me—grabbing my sword and removing my helm—a wave of strange fear had taken over me. There was a moment when I thought she was going to kill me, drive my own sword through my gut and spare me of my misery. She might have yelled at me again.

            My head was swimming. The nausea overwhelming me was just as powerful as the sensation in the parts of my leg that weren’t numb. Instead of fighting her, I allowed my body to take over and simply let it ease my suffering. In the background there was more shouting and laughing. It became less of a distraction and more of a soothing, lulling hum. I had the thought that Rook was busy, gone away on some business and a quick nap might be in order. No sooner than I closed my eyes, my whole body was jarred.

            “Teldryn Sero.”

            Struggling to look at who was addressing me, I saw Rook. Wherever she had gone, the trip had not been pleasant. My mouth started to form the words to tell her she looked horrible when some incoherent muttering replaced it instead. “Hmm? Oh, it’s you. I was just taking nap.”

Cold hands pressed roughly against my neck but before I could shoo her away, they were gone.

            “Quiet. Last thing I need is for your last words to be something foolish.” She fumbled around at my injured leg. The pain was dizzying—it was as if I had never experienced the world without it. Last words. _I must be dying_. Well, at least it wasn’t something foolish that would kill me. Although I wouldn’t know how to tell her that my family needed to know, at least my brother. No other Sero had ever been felled by something quite as impressive as a dragon. The only way Endryn would be able to top that was to be killed by the Dragonborn. I heard something snap and it broke me out of my musing. I briefly wondered if she had been able to snap my leg back in place.

            “What was that?” My words felt clear enough but when they left me, I heard myself slur.

            There was more tugging and more pain. “Me attempting to save your sorry life.” Another powerful tug and I was sent into a new adventure in pain. I almost cried out but she ordered, “I need you to be _quiet_.”

            “Quiet? You’re the one who’s been doing all the shouting.” I felt like laughing at my own, horrible joke but my head felt heavy and weighted. There were some other noises, like glass clinking against one another. The world was beginning to blur so much that all I could make out were vague colors, muted clamoring. I couldn’t tell if I was freezing or sweating, my body was in such a state of agony. These were surely my last moments and Rook didn’t want my last words to be foolish. “And let’s be honest—”

            “Teldryn?”

            Had she been speaking to me? “Hmm?”

            “This isn't something I can just throw a healing spell over.” She sounded calm. Maybe she was joking with me. Maybe my leg wasn’t snapped in two. “The only good that would serve is if I planned on chopping it off. Which I could if you’d like.” Alright, maybe it wasn’t a joke.

            In my mind, I wanted to tell her to do whatever would keep me alive. Just hack the damned thing off if it meant that my life could be spared. I could trust her to do so effectively and she could trust me not to hold anything against her for it. Again, when I opened my mouth to tell her to do so all that came out was a mad sounding laughing. “That would be a sight: a one-legged mercenary and a mad woman.” That cracked me up for some reason. An exasperated lament escaped her lips and I realized I said something foolish. She rewarded my idiocy by plunging me into excruciating, agonizing pain.

            My world went dark.

* * *

 

            My eyelids had never felt heavier. When I moved to shift my body, it refused to budge. Forcing my eyes open, I thought I could make out dark hair. Heavy-headed my incoherency took ahold of me.

            “Elyrrya?” The name flowed off my tongue before I had a chance to catch myself.

            A burst of giggling sprang forth and when my vision cleared, I could see that it wasn’t Rook but rather a young girl. “Is that the Dragonborn?” she asked. “What a strange name.”

            I finally willed my body to move and—with some work—was able to sit up. Bringing a hand to rub against my eyes, the thick furs that had been up to my neck slid down. I heard her giggle again with a little more zeal. “ _What_?” This was getting more than a little annoying.

            Leaning against the bed, she brought a hand to her mouth and whispered while pointing downward. “You’re _naked_.” Another spurt of giggling erupted from her.

            I yanked the covers fully above my waistline and wrapped it around my back. My face grew hot. “Child, where are the _adults_?” It was bad enough I didn’t know where I was or where Rook was but now I had a child laughing at me.

            Crossing her arms, she harrumphed loudly. “My _name_ is Aeta.” She wagged a scolding finger at me. “And don’t you think that I’m going to let you boss me around because I’m a child. I was told to keep you in bed and that’s what I’m going to do.”

            My amusement at the small, commanding figure began to overpower my annoyance. “Well then,” I grinned. “My apologies, lady.” Looking behind Aeta, I noticed I was in a cramped bedroom with a window above the bed, sunlight streaming out through the panes. This wasn’t a familiar place and my memory was more than a little fractured. Groggily, I thought it might be safe to ask, “Where am I?”

            She flopped beside me on the bed and strained her short arm to feel my cheek with the back of her small, cold hand. “Looks like your fever’s gone.” A satisfied nod followed the pronouncement. “You’re with us, of course.”

            I ruffled her hair playfully. “Who’s us, Lady Aeta?”

            Aeta’s wide smile at my address was contagious. “My family! I’m Oslaf and Finna’s daughter. You’re staying with us because Mama says that the Dragonborn saved Papa so she’s taking care of her and since she’s doing that _I_ have to watch over you while Papa’s out hunting.” She exhaled a heavy breath and then added, “And you better not cause me any trouble.”

            At the first mention of Rook, I immediately asked, “Where is she, the Dragonborn?”

            Aeta hopped back into the chair and swung her legs, palms resting on the seat of the wood. “Hmm? Oh, I think she’s with Frea. Boy, was she ever mad, I’ve never seen her that cross before.”

            “Mad?”

            Nodding she explained, “She was _really_ upset. Edla kept telling her she didn’t think she was going to make it but then Mama said that she just needed some help and that she could help—”

            I held out my hands to stop her. “Whoa, slow down there, my lady.” I rapped my knuckles lightly against the side of my unkempt hair, now a bit too overgrown for my liking. “This Mer isn’t quite all there yet. Still pretty fuzzy up here.” Aeta was a cute little thing but she had more energy than I could deal with at the moment. Allowing her to take the reins would lead to her talking until she was blue in the face.

            She took another deep breath and then exhaled. “Frea thought the Dragonborn was going to die for certain.” The solemn thought was concluded by, “She looked _horrible_. I’ve never seen anyone so sick looking.” My face must have betrayed my thoughts because she tried to comfort me, “Mama said that the Dragonborn saved you, carried you on her back.”

            My eyes widened and I jerked back slightly. “She _what_?” My leg. I thought I had dreamt that. Pulling off the covers from my legs, I could feel a slight discomfort but the only thing that told me something more had happened than a slight injury was a dark, jagged scar across the midline of my shin. “The dragon.” And I recalled what had happened to Rook, shuddering.

            “A _dragon?_ ” Aeta’s eyes were wide and she leaned forward in her chair. “Like the one in the village? It took us _soooo_ long to clear out the bones, Papa said they were so heavy that—”

            Blessedly, the creaking of a door interrupted the over-eager girl. “Aeta?”

            “Mama!” Aeta rushed off excitedly to greet her mother. When she appeared again, she was attached at her mother’s hip, hugging her tightly while walking sideways as her mother came into view.

            Aeta was the spitting image of her mother with her dark hair and strong nose but while the daughter was smiling, her mother look tired. “Well, look at you. Didn’t expect you to be up and about already.” Reaching down to give Aeta a quick hug she added, “How are you feeling?”

            Shifting a little uncomfortably, I shrugged. “Groggy but none the worse for wear.” I held out my hand to awkwardly introduce myself. “Teldryn Sero.”

            The woman took my hand and gave it a short, firm grasp. “Finna. Wife of Oslaf and mother to Aeta.” She flopped into the chair and it creaked. She yawned. “Edla said that you might be feeling a little woozy. It took some work but she finally got you to drink some regeneration potion a few hours ago.”

            “Mama, did you know the Dragonborn has a strange name?” Aeta interrupted. “She’s called Elyrrya!”

I shook my head, slightly grinning. That child had some memory.

            Finna wasn’t quite as amused. “Child, can’t you see I’m exhausted? Stop bothering me with silly things.” She patted Aeta on the back, beckoning her to run along. Her daughter did so obediently. When she was out of hearing, Finna groaned, “All-Maker be good, that woman was a pain in the arse.”

            My head spun a little as I laughed. “Rook you mean,” I supplied, knowing damn well that was exactly who she was talking about.

            “ _Yes_.” She rested an elbow against her bent knee and rolled a finger against her temple. “I’m guessing you don’t have children but if you ever do, I can promise _none_ will be so difficult as that grown woman was. And _filthy_. It’s like she _bathed_ in blood.” Her nose crinkled in disgust. “The _smell_.”

            That wasn’t too surprising-- I vaguely remembered Rook being covered in blood while she was tending to me. “I’m sure she kicked and screamed the entire time,” I half-joked.

            Finna gave me a half-knowing smile, her eyes laughing at me. “And she was covered in _other_ marks as well, not that I’m implying anything.”

            I shrugged and gave her a cocky smile. “Well, it’s not in my nature to proposition married women so you’re out of luck if you are hoping for any thanks from me past my charming smile and some gold.”

            _That_ roused her from fatigue as she burst into a hearty chuckle. “ _My,_ oh my! You are a scoundrel. My husband would cut your manhood off for a comment like that.” I raised my eyebrow in question. “ _If_ he were here. I’m just wondering where you have the energy to be such a flirt with the injury you sustained,” Finna laughed again, bemused.

            For a moment I considered making another crass comment but my better judgment steered my thoughts. “How is she?”

            Pushing herself up from the chair, I saw her make a motion that beckoned me to follow her. “Sleeping, I hope. Come on now, let’s get you presentable and see how that leg of yours is. Edla could tell that you had a pretty nasty break from the wound.”

            Unquestioningly, I threw my legs over the bed—keeping care to hold the furs in place. When I went to stand, my right leg buckled a little under my weight. It wobbled slightly and I braced myself against a wall. It wasn’t so much an impossibility as it was a poor decision to keep pressing myself. “I would love to but…” I motioned to the offending limb.

            “Edla said there might be some weakness so she left you this,” Finna popped out from around a corner and handed me a stack of clothing with a cane on top. “You need help getting dressed?”

            While able to reach for the bundle I wasn’t able to put any more weight on my right leg. The motion caused me to stumble backwards. By sheer luck, I was able to reclaim my balance. Finna looked a little uncertain but I grinned to reassure her. “I’m fine, thanks. Don’t want Oslaf to have any other excuses to relieve me of my parts.” I waved my hand, motioning her to leave. “You better look after that girl of yours. She must be a handful.”

            Finna exhaled heavily through her nose. “You have _no_ idea.” With another step out she offered, “If you need help, just call for me.”

            Whoever Edla was, I was grateful for her. Maneuvering without the cane would have been a chore. Finna had given me a set of smalls and clothes not my own but they fit, albeit a little bigger than I was. When I felt good enough to walk, I limped into the living area where Finna was helping Aeta add ingredients to a cooking pot.

            “Like this?” Aeta plopped a handful of diced vegetables into the water—some of it splashed onto the floor.

            Finna sighed. “Fawnling, a little more care. You’re going to spill out half the soup like that.” Bending down she planted a quick kiss in Aeta’s hair. “And if you do that, _someone’s_ going to go hungry.” Aeta giggled as her mother pinched her cheek.

            “Weeeell,” I drawled as I found a seat to lean against. “I’d try to convince you I’m not starving but I’d be lying.”

            Aeta shot me a smug look and wagged a finger at me. “You’ve been a good patient so far but don’t push your luck.”

            “Well!” Finna gave Aeta a tight squeeze. “She’s already got the measure of you, doesn’t she?”

            All I could manage was a short laugh but my thoughts drifted off to Rook. I didn’t have a clear picture of what had happened and there were thousands of questions racing through my head. That being so, I didn’t want to intrude on the kindness my hosts were already showing me. There wasn’t much I could do at the moment so I tried putting it out of my mind. Instead I hobbled over to the pot to oversee Aeta’s progress. Her small hands kept trying to grasp huge chunks of onion, some of the pieces sliding out from her hands and clumsily into the water. She caught me spying on her.

            “You gonna complain?” She stuck her tongue out at me.

            “No, no.” I lifted a hand defensively, using my other arm to support myself on my cane. “My mother had a saying: ‘Never complain to the cook because they could poison your stew.’” I chuckled at the memory. Aeta stared at me but Finna hid a laugh behind a hand. “Oh, don’t be so stodgy, lady.” I ruffled Aeta’s dark hair. “Who would ever use a poisoned stew to kill someone? How silly.”

            That seemed to appease her as she went back to following Finna’s instructions. It was endearing watching the little girl beam at every praise and pursed her lips thoughtfully at every criticism. Finna handed the girl a wooden spoon and pointed at the broth, instructing her to mix in ingredients here and there. Bemused, I watched as the two weaved in and out between each other, working to bring the stew to a boil. Aeta scooped a handful of flour in as Finna threw in some salt. Satisfied with her work, Aeta nodded at Finna.

            “You think it’s ready?” Finna asked. Aeta dipped a spoon into the stew and noisily slurped.

            “Yep!” Aeta beamed. “Perfect!”

            “Alright then,” Finna patted her on the back. “Go get washed up then. Papa’s going to be home soon and I won’t have you dirty for supper.”

            Aeta ran off excitedly to a wash bowl and obediently followed Finna’s biddings. I had to stifle back a laugh as Finna took a spoon and sipped at the soup, grimacing as the stew touched her tongue. Grabbing another handful of salted meat and onions, she whispered to me, “That girl’s cooking _could_ kill someone. Oslaf once had a horrible stomachache after eating one of her pies. Bad snowberries.”

            I pinched my forefinger and thumb together, bringing them to my lips and turning them in a locking motion, indicating my silence. “My stomach thanks you then.”

            Finna smiled at me, still looking exhausted. “Edla will be coming in to check on you again after she finishes taking care of your lover,” she lightly teased. “Personally, I believe you’ll be fine in another day or so. The Dragonborn, on the other hand, well…” the teasing was all left from her words and she shrugged. Her mouth was set firm. “I think Edla’s time would best be spent tending to her.”

            I only nodded, not wanting to press her with more unanswerable questions or wild speculations. Instead, I reassured, “It takes a lot more than a dragon snapping my leg in two to keep me down.”

Before anything else was exchanged, the door swung open and a large man dressed in thick furs stomped through the doorway. He shrugged off a thick layer of snow, powder falling off onto the wooden floor.

“Oslaf!” Finna rolled her eyes. “ _What_ have I told you about that? All-Maker, help me, you’re as bad as Aeta.”

“Bah! I work hard hunting for tomorrow’s meal with an aching back and you bother me with a small thing like snow,” Oslaf boomed as he reached Finna and wrapped an arm around her hip and kissed her. Bending over he smelled the stew. “Mmmm, is it ready to eat?”

“Patience,” she admonished, “It won’t cook any faster because your stomach growls.” Good-naturedly, she smacked his hand lightly with the spoon she was holding. “And where are your manners? Our guest is up and about.”

As if finally realizing I was in the room, Oslaf smiled widely. “Well, well, well!” He took a wide step and gave me a solid slap on the back. “You two have caused quite a ruckus. Most excitement we’ve seen since that dragon.” The force of his slap caused me to slightly lose my balance but I smiled and offered my hand.

“Teldryn Sero. My thanks for opening your home to me.”

As he yanked off his gloves and tugged off his coat, he waved a hand. “Helping the Dragonborn is small payment for freeing me from Miraak’s hold.” Oslaf flung the pieces of clothing onto another chair and called out for Aeta. “Where are you, cub?” The balding man was an imposing figure with his muscular build and thick beard but when his daughter ran out from a room, he was all smiles and laughter as he hoisted her up onto his shoulders.

“Papa, Papa, Papa!” she squealed in delight as he spun her around. “I wanna go on my first hunt next time! I just wanna see and I promise not to get in the way of the hunters and I’m _not_ afraid of the beasts in the forests and—”

Oslaf took her in his hands and held her in the air in front of him. “Slow down, little cub. What have I told you before?” When he put her down, Aeta scowled and crossed her arms.

In an annoyed tone she huffed, “I _know_.” Without being able to see her face, I could only guess she was rolling her eyes. “I’m not _old enough yet_.”

Oslaf patted her head as he threw a leg over a chair, swinging it out as he rested an elbow on the table. Grabbing a loaf of bread, he took a hearty bite. “Girl, I have no doubt you’re brave. You’ve got the heart of a damned she-wolf but everything has its time and place.”

“Oslaf!” Finna cried out. “For the sake of the All-Maker, watch your language!”

He shrugged and Aeta burst into giggles. Rushing over to the seat beside him, she playfully tugged at him. I finally realized that the entire time I had been watching father and daughter, a stupid grin was plastered on my face. While Finna stirred the stew, she added another dash of some herb. Looking in my direction, she raised her eyebrows.

“Do you have any children, Teldryn?”

A short cough escaped from me and I cleared my throat. “Me? Not that I know of.” Shaking my head I added, “She’s cute but I couldn’t keep up with something like that.” The smile didn’t vanish from my face. Children weren’t something I thought about often but it had crossed my mind. It was just a hard idea to wrap my head around what with being a mercenary—constantly moving and having no home, a family didn’t seem like a wise decision.

“Oh, if the All-Maker ever blesses you with children, you’ll find that even one Aeta won’t be enough for you.” Fondly, she looked over at Oslaf pulling at Aeta’s ear. “I can’t get enough of those two. Oslaf and I want more children but it just hasn’t happened yet.”

Standing up, I leaned against my cane and took slow steps toward Finna. “I need to stretch my legs. Think a walk outside might be good for me.”

“Oslaf, give Teldryn your coat and gloves. It’s freezing out there,” Finna ordered, not looking up from the pot. While Oslaf grabbed his things, Aeta bounded from her seat and ran to snatch her own furs.

“I’m his nurse, Edla said so! I need to go out with him!” Tugging on her own coat, she raced to meet me as I pulled on her father’s oversized clothing. I was certain I could go out without thicker pants but certainly not without shoes.

“So, any idea where my things are, nurse Aeta?” I grinned at her. She obliged me by running to the side of the bed I’d slept in and returning with only my boots. “This is it?” I frowned.

“Unless you wanted your torn clothing,” Finna answered. “Those were all you had on you at the time that could be salvaged.”

Where in Oblivion was my armor, my supplies, my _weapons_? I could have asked but I had a good feeling that Rook had my missing possessions. Once I finished tugging on my boots, I offered my arm to Aeta while the other balanced on the cane. “Shall we then?”

With a curt nod, she waved to Finna and Oslaf. Her mother only shook her head and advised, “Don’t be long now, you two. Sunset is upon us.”

I opened the door, letting Aeta take the lead. She seemed to be having fun pointing out who was who in the village. When someone asked how I was, she was quick to tell them fine but that I was under her care at the moment but to ask again later. I patted her hand playfully and thanked her, “My, you take your job as nursemaid _very_ seriously.”

She beamed. “Edla said to watch over you. She said it was a _very_ important job.”

“Well, I’m a _very_ important person,” I did my best to exaggerate my accent, making her laugh.

“Dunmer talk funny,” she giggled. As we walked up the hill toward Frea’s residence, I tried to focus on putting my strength into my leg instead of wondering if Rook was awake or if she was even inside. Attempting to take my mind off my worries, I grinned at her.

“ _I_ talk funny? You ever listen to yourself? Just like a Nord in Skyrim.” Chuckling I did my best to slather on a thick Nord accent but fell short, “I’m a big, ax-wielding Nord who likes the cold,” which only led her to laugh louder.

Behind us I heard a voice laughing with her. “Well, it seems that you’re feeling better.”

Turning around, Aeta exclaimed, “Edla!”

“Ah, so you’re the one I have to thank for getting me back in fighting shape.” Slipping my arm from Aeta’s, I tapped my weaker leg.

The woman before us held a basket of various flowers. Her hood was thrown back, revealing dark hair interwoven with strands of silver. Wrinkles framed her mouth and creased the edges of her eyes. Smiling she waved a hand, “Oh, I didn’t do anything really. By the time we found you, the worst of your maladies was blood loss.”

I raised an eyebrow and cocked my head. “So my leg was completely healed?”

Edla nodded, shifting the basket from one arm to another. “It seemed that was the case. The Dragonborn must be some mage to manage restoration spells of that magnitude.”

I nodded and smiled but knew that while Rook was talented in conjuration and almost equally as skilled with destruction, restoration wasn’t quite her strength past spells for herself. Healing others was one thing but I doubted that knitting together a snapped bone would be one of its uses. “Well, that and a top notch nurse,” I diverted. Aeta beamed. Motioning toward her basket, I asked, “May I?”

Edla smiled and offered the basket to me. “Oh, by all means, here. Just some mountain flowers I’m using for extra potions.”

I picked out a light blue one and thanked her. Bending down on one knee was easier than standing—I brushed back Aeta’s hair behind her ear and tucked the flower in it. “There we go. Proper thanks for looking after me.”

Edla pinched Aeta’s cheek playfully. “She was my only choice. I knew Aeta would be a wonderful caretaker.”

Before she walked away, I had the sense to finally ask, “Is she ok?” My head cocked toward Frea’s hut.

Edla only sighed. “Honestly? I can’t do anything more for her past a few potions to calm her stomach and a salve or two for some cuts and scrapes. Whatever’s wrong with her is past my abilities to heal.”

I could only nod in thanks again. Aeta tapped my shoulder and beckoned me to follow her. “C’mon, I’m starving.”

* * *

 

            The next day my leg almost felt good enough to put weight on without the cane but after a few hours of walking around all morning, I could feel it weaken. Not wanting to be stuck in a bed all day, I wandered about the village. I was able to find the blacksmith hammering away at some armor. At the table, a woman was twisting out some leather.

            “Hello there!” I greeted him, trying to get his attention. “I’m looking for a set of furs.”

            The man looked up from his work and extended a sooted hand to me. “Baldor Iron-Shaper. And I think we have some sets.” He bent down and opened a chest, pulling out a large bundle. One of his hands reached down to grab a pair of boots. “Here we are. Fine leather armor that’ll keep you warm as well. One hundred gold.”

            Nervously I laughed, rubbing the back of my neck. “About that…”

            A hand came down on my shoulder. “Here,” a woman’s voice offered as my familiar-looking satchel was placed in my hand. “Should not be too difficult now.”

            Quickly I grabbed out a bag of coins and handed them to Baldor. When I looked over at the woman, I was pleasantly surprised to find Frea beside me. “Frea, good to see you. Again.” She smiled but I felt a little uncomfortable. The last time I had seen her was when she was sobbing over her newly dead father’s body. Frea lightly grabbed my elbow as I shifted the clothing underneath my arm.

            “I praise the All-Maker to see you so well.” Frea’s hand moved from my elbow to my lower back as she helped me keep my balance. “How are you?”

            “Wonderful, besides wearing Oslaf’s coat,” I laughed. “The man is so big that his clothes swallow me whole.”

            “Oslaf is one of our best hunters,” she agreed. “But your leg is fine?” I could tell she was easing me into something that was going to be difficult to discuss. I allowed her to take control of the conversation.

            “A little weak but otherwise good as new.” There were a few eyes on us, watching her gently aid me while I limped along. We were talking low enough that no ears could pry. Frea was leading us to the outskirts of the village, a little past out of the hustle of daily life.

            She turned to me, frowning. “What is wrong with her?”

            I couldn’t help but laugh hard. “Where does one begin?” Allowing the laughter to subside, I finally answered her seriously. “Has she told you anything or is that your own observation?”

            With a scoff Frea crossed her arms. “Not that she had to but all she said was that it was not anything she could control.”

            I shrugged. “That sounds about the measure of things.” Shaking my head, I was torn between telling her the entire truth and respecting Rook’s privacy. To clear my head, I glanced out at the sea before us, taking in the sun glinting off the waters before finally choosing the latter. “But that’s all you know?”

            Frea nodded. “Immediately after we cleaned her up, I put her to bed. She has been asleep ever since.” Bending down she picked a blade of grass poking through the heavy snow and fiddled around with it in her hands. “Edla did what she could but Rook pushed herself too far, told us she drank half her weight in potions. Despite that, I think rest is the best thing for her.” She gave the thought another second. “And food.”

            “Hah!” I patted her on the back and shifted my weight again. “Good luck getting her to do any of those things. Azura knows I’ve given up. The only thing she knows how to do is run around to the point of exhaustion and eat sweets.”

            Frea eyed me but let it go. “Come. Tharstan has been asking for her since we brought you two to the village but I think he would be willing to speak with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I had way too much fun writing this chapter? Aeta is just the best. Alright, so sorry for the long wait. School is keeping me busy. I'll do my best to get the next update in today but no promises.
> 
> Thanks to all of the lovely guests who've left kudos--this work now has 100! I never thought that RoS would gain such a nice little collection of readers ever again, but you all have made this a wonderful experience. I love writing and updating for all of you to enjoy yourselves! A very special thank you to lots of kind people who've let me know that they like what's going on: dryadgrl13, Catori1207, and (as usual, extra super thanks for editing help!) to SuFin20.
> 
> Part 2 of this chapter will be up next. See you then and thanks for reading! -Ash


	36. Teldryn Interlude XI: Part II

I had no qualms about looking like a slob as I tore into the roasted boar meat. Finna’s stew was filling but this was _satisfying_. As I swallowed a huge chunk, I dug into a baked potato. There was no concern around me though. Edla and her son Nikulas were both scarfing down slices of pungent cheese. Frea had just thrown back a bottle of ale and was laughing at something the village chieftain, Fenari, said. The man sitting next to me, however, wasn’t as jovial but still excited.

            “When Deor told me that Baldor was rescued I was overjoyed, but to hear that he was rescued by the _Dragonborn_ , well, I just knew I had to ask for her help.” The balding man in fine clothing and a slick fur cloak smiled widely as he broke off a piece of bread and took a small bite from the section. One hand laid on his lap. “It was very brave and that kind of courage is _exactly_ what I’m looking for.”

            I reached over to grab a bottle of mead to wash down the hunk of meat I’d just bitten off. I shook my head. “Listen, I’m not _unappreciative_ at the hospitality but Rook would string me up by my innards if I went around agreeing to every man, woman, and child who wanted her help.” The imagery that I had painted for myself was a little too vivid after what I had been through—it wasn’t so much fear of Rook as it was what was happening to her that had kept me up these last few nights, tossing and turning. The echo of words in a language I couldn’t understand rang unclear and muddled but were frightening all the same.

            Tharstan didn’t seem undeterred by my hesitance. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I would be willing to pay for the help, of course. I’m a scholar, you see, and the Skaal simply _fascinate_ me.” His naïve smile almost made me sympathize with Rook. I couldn’t fathom the amount of people that probably pleaded stubbornly for her help constantly.

             I had to bite my tongue to stop from commenting on his apparent “fascination” with Fenari—any time she spoke he offered rapt attention and almost jumped at every opportunity to aid her. “Your fascination might be admirable in your work but the only thing she’s going to do with your coin is shove it up your arse.” I ignored the look of shock on his face. “Friend, I’m dead serious. This isn’t the time to pester her with petty little trips into new Nord ruins.”

            Before Tharstan could even frown, Frea leaned over and tried to help him gain a foothold. “The Skaal have many legends. Tharstan has been so kind as to record all of our history and stories for others to read.”

            “Frea,” my patience was a little worn. “I understand but—”

            She held up a hand to stop me and smiled kindly. “I think that Tharstan has a small collection he could share with you. His research has amassed a small library here.” She motioned to Tharstan. “Maybe you could show Teldryn a few of your books? I think _The Guardian and The Traitor_ would be the most interesting.”

            Tharstan jumped out of his seat, half-running while shouting, “Oh yes! I think that one would do nicely!” He took the stairs to some room by twos, mumbling excitedly to himself while Frea gave me an even softer smile.

            “You and I both know that she is not going to budge from whatever plans she has unless there is good reason. The Skaal have a legend about a dragon priest who was corrupted by Herma-Mora.”

            My ears perked at that. “Suspiciously coincidental.” I frowned and rubbed my leg underneath the table. “Why not just tell her this when she awakes?” The meal and the conversation had seemed pleasant enough but this was suddenly taking a turn that made me uncomfortable. Moments ago Tharstan had been chatting about his journey from Solitude to Solstheim with nothing but whispers of Nord ancestors still living here. His passion was seemingly innocent enough—the study of the dying Skaal tradition had become the only thing he lived for. Now that his studies were intertwining with Dragonborns, I wasn’t certain that I was feeling up to having this discussion. Sighing, I suddenly felt fatigued. My hand dragged down my face. “Frea. This can’t—”

            A hand fell on my shoulder and a large book landed beside me on the table, a terrific thud causing my plate to rattle a little. “There we are!” Tharstan exclaimed. “Now _this_ is one of the older legends of the Skaal. Lucius Gallus was an Imperial scholar in the Third Era, a little less known than the other scholars of his time but this particular piece was _the_ work that piqued my interest in the Skaal. Imagine the implications for future historical records if…”

            His voice flowed in the background as I took a look inside the musty tome.  My eyes saw words but they swam before me. All this reading and talk of dragon priests was making me tired. Yawning I closed it. Hoping to end the conversation, I cut him off, “I really need some rest.”

            Edla and her son—as well as the chieftain—bid me a good night. Tharstan was still lost in thought, flipping through one of the other books he had brought to the table. Frea, however, rose and met me; she grabbed my elbow as I steadied myself as I tried standing while carrying the book under one shoulder. “Come.” My leg was feeling stronger but not quite up to its usual work. Despite being bundled in thick leather and fur, I could still feel the grip of her fingers. They strongly suggested that she wanted to talk with me outside. I obliged. As we walked outside she looked up at the dusky sky. “Looks like it might snow.” The clouds were thick and a cold wind was beginning to pick up around our feet.

            “You’re still upset at her?” I ventured a guess. Frea had deliberately sidestepped my question earlier and I’m certain that it wasn’t an accident.

            Surprisingly, she shook her head. “No. Far from it actually.”

            “Oh?” I didn’t bother hiding the surprise in my voice. This woman had watched her father die in front of her and not cleanly—his death was a direct consequence of Rook’s actions. It was easier to place all the blame on Hermaeus Mora but the image of her standing motionless and stoic as his tentacles run through Storn was hard to shake. The daedric prince had requested something of her and she delivered without hesitation. It hadn’t bothered me nor would it but Frea seemed more sensitive than that.

            She stared out at the sky as we strolled slowly downhill. There was a tightness in her face before finally exhaling. The muscles around her mouth relaxed and she smiled at me. “My father was a wise man. It will be hard to fill his shoes. My people need someone strong like him when spirits are low. Instead the All-Maker saw fit to let these things come to pass.” She fiddled with some piece of leather on her coat. “Be that as it may, I chose to ignore my father’s words to me before his death.”

            I didn’t respond. There was no possible way to add anything without sounding trite. Instead I nodded thoughtfully, focusing on the way my foot was landing as the snow crunched loudly underneath.

            “He told me that the Dragonborn is only a figurehead for the workings of the All-Maker. The All-Maker is the one with the wishes and desires for Skaal but manifests his works through the Hero. She is only doing what she must. If mortals like you and I are powerless against the whims of a dark manipulator such as Herma-Mora then I doubt she would be able to overpower such a force so easily.”

            “So your All-Maker was responsible then. For your father’s death, I mean. That still doesn’t explain why you’re dragging me into this.” Trying to wrap my head around one single god was a little difficult—it didn’t make much sense to have just one powerful being to worship.

            “Sometimes, it is hard for me to accept the All-Maker’s will,” she admitted as we stood by Oslaf’s door. “But I know without doubt that Rook will not listen to me or anyone in the village for that matter.”

            A sigh escaped me before I could catch it. The look on Frea’s face wasn’t exactly one of despair or hopelessness. She appeared relaxed. “And what makes you think she listens to me, hmm?” One of my hands waved impatiently at her. “You must have seen her. Starves herself, doesn’t sleep, can’t sit down for one damned second to take a breath. You think that I haven’t tried telling her that even the gods take a break every Era or so?” I shook my head. “You do this yourself—you’re strong. Rook’s got her mind set on tearing down all of Tel Mithryn if she doesn’t get her way at this point. Certainly doesn’t mean a few strong words might not sway her to make a detour along the way. I’m just the mercenary.”

            Frea cocked her mouth to one side and raised her eyebrows. “Yes, _just_ the mercenary.”

            I chuckled a little—not at the implication but at Frea’s naivety. It finally dawned on me why she believed I had any pull with Rook. “What? You think that because I make her scream my name that my words are going to be persuasive?” At that her face lit up hot and crimson. I laughed harder. “Girl, you have a fair bit to learn about bedding if you think it has that sort of power.”

            At that she suddenly took a step backwards, hands fumbling about and her eyes darting this way and that. “I... uh…” Pointing back to her hut, Frea had to look away to hide how red her cheeks had blossomed. “Speaking of which, I should, um, probably check on her.” Turning on a heel she began to quickly walk away.

            I called out to her, still laughing, before opening the door, “If you’d like lessons, I’ll be happy to offer my services to you!” The joke came out easily enough but a sudden pang of longing hit me. I could almost hear Rook scoffing at me, asking me if I was as attracted to Skaal as I was to _true_ Nord women. She wasn’t close enough but Frea started muttering something under her breath, still moving at a quick pace away from me.

            Shaking my head I pushed the door only to be greeted by a scowling Aeta, her arms crossed and a foot tapping impatiently. “It is _late_. You missed dinner.”

            Oslaf and Finna were sitting at the table whispering into one another’s ears. Oslaf had an arm wrapped around her waist and at the sound of my footsteps, turned his head toward me and winked. I smirked and gave Aeta a light tap on her leg with my cane. “Terribly sorry about that, my lady. How about I make up for my grievous error with a story?” Moving the cane to her back, I lightly guided her away from her parents. Finna giggled at something and Aeta frowned.

            “They aren’t newly married,” she grumbled. “They ignored me all of dinner.”

            “Oh, child.” I smiled at her as I sat on the bed and began to yank off my boots. “Give them their alone time. You don’t like the idea of a new brother or sister?”    

            At _that_ she beamed, “I would be _the_ best big sister.”

            “I have no doubts,” I pinched her cheek and patted at the bed beside me. “Now, I owe you a story.”

            Suspiciously, she eyed the book I had thrown on the other side of me. “This better not be a trick.” Hopping up on the bed, Aeta flopped beside me and looked up expectedly at me. “Tell me a story about the _Dragonborn_.” She batted her eyelashes and smiled widely.

            Groaning I rolled my eyes. “And just _what_ is so special about her?” I was half-kidding but part of me was a little curious of how this little girl viewed Rook.

            Spreading her arms wide, Aeta jumped onto the bed. “She kills _dragons_.”

            I gave her a wide smile. Of course dragon killer would be an immediate draw. Racking my mind, I tried to find something about her in my memory; however, the realization came to me that I didn’t actually know much about Rook as Dragonborn beyond what little Aeta knew. Looking over at the book, I grabbed it by the spine and flipped to the first page. “How about a story you might know? The…” my eyes scanned the pages. “Guardian?”

            Taking one final hop, she tucked her legs underneath and landed beside me, eyes bright and smiling. “I know that one!” Reaching over she slammed the book shut. “Lemme tell it!”

            “Alright, alright!” I laughed and sat back, outstretching my leg and rubbing the junction of healed skin on my shin.

            Tucking her legs more comfortably underneath herself, Aeta cleared her throat and tried her best to begin dramatically. “In the long ago, _dragons_ ruled the world.” Her arms spread wide and her fingers splayed. Instead of laughing, I simply smiled. The child was doing her best to be serious but it was hard to take the statement as ominous when travelling with Rook. “And the fearsome dragons had mortal servants, men who sold their souls to their dragon gods.”

            “Dragon Priests.”

            She nodded. “Dragon priests. The dragons took their souls and reshaped them so they could become Tongues.”

            “Tongues?”

            “Like the _Dragonborn_ ,” Aeta rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly. “You know.”

            Raising an eyebrow, I guessed, “Shouting? Dragon words?”

            Aeta nodded but continued. “The dragons and their servants controlled the world until one of them became The Traitor. Herma-Mora seduced him with promises of _evil_ power and The Traitor secretly plotted to control his masters.” Her fingers wiggled near her face as if planning something and her grin looked a little wicked. Suddenly, she raised a finger as if to stop my thoughts. “ _But_ The Guardian found out his treacherous plot and fought The Traitor.”

            My smile started to wane and I yawned, bringing the back of my mouth to my hand. I must have been more exhausted than I thought. Aeta frowned at me and I apologized, “Go on. I’m awake.”

            Squinting at me, she slowly picked back up. “Weeeell, the battle lasted for _days_. So fearsome it was that the island was torn away from Skyrim. But Herma-Mora cheated—just as The Guardian was about to defeat The Traitor, the evil spirit pulled him away, saving him.”

            “Ah, so The Traitor lived?” This story did indeed whisper into my ear that there were more coincidences here than Frea let on.

            “But not without consequence. The dragons were not about to allow his deeds to go without punishment. Herma-Mora pulled his body but his soul had originally been bound to Nirn, to Mundus. When The Traitor was pulled his soul was in a state of chaos, not here or there. The Guardian sacrificed himself, binding his own soul to the island so that the parts of The Traitor’s soul that do exist here could not regain power. The dragons honored this sacrifice by appointing him the ruler of the island.”

            It was obvious this story had been spoken to her more than once. The words didn’t sound like hers, the emphases and pacing all had the ring of someone much older. All the same, she knew the tale well. “And so where is The Guardian now?”

            Aeta shrugged and yawned wide. “I dunno. It’s just a story.” Shifting around, she leaned against my arm and I could already tell that this was the beginning of sleep for her. Instead of shooing her away to her own bed, I lifted my arm and wrapped it around her. Pushing against the bed, I adjusted myself so that at least my back would be against the wall. That only persuaded her to curl in further, her eyes heavy and her back rising steadily with each inhalation.

            “Mmhmm,” I murmured. “Well, you did a good job. Very dramatic.” Aeta only nodded and I smiled, allowing myself relax. I could feel my eyes dropping heavily so without struggle, I allowed sleep to find me.

* * *

 

            I awoke suddenly, my breathing heavy. My first thought was to watch for Aeta but at some point she had burrowed into the covers and her head rested on my lap. The sight soothed me a little and my hand moved to smooth down her hair. Despite my efforts to shake the nightmare, parts of it lingered in the recesses of my mind. The words Rook had spoken to the dragon and to me hung heavily in my memory. It hadn’t been her—it couldn’t have been. But, as I realized last night, being Dragonborn obviously meant more than killing dragons.

            It took some work to release myself from Aeta’s small weight but it was doable. Putting some weight on my leg I could feel that it felt as good as new. Not wanting to celebrate too early, I grabbed my cane. No reason to over extend myself if it wasn’t necessary. Outside the window, a light snow was starting to fall and the sun wasn’t close to breaking the sky. A few flakes struck the glass and immediately melted against the opposing warmth from the home. I shrugged into my coat and quietly stepped out of the house, leaving the sleeping family be. My own restlessness bid me to wander.

            The snow wasn’t heavy enough to be a bother. I could feel flecks of ice against the parts of my face and flesh that were exposed but it was almost a welcome relief from the heat of the house and sleeping in my clothes for a few hours. A few stars blinked here and there but Secunda and Masser were completely gone from the sky. No one was out yet and the still quiet was a blanket around the land. However, I found as I moved closer to the main part of the village, I could swear I heard the sounds of rustling and cursing echoing a little past it near the sea. Crossing upward and over I moved past the main part of the village and stood near the edge of a cliff. The sounds were much louder and when I glanced down, I found their source.

            She sat there staring out at the sea, quiet now. A book lay in her lap—opened and scrawled with writing from top to bottom. Rook had a habit of writing in a journal at times. I’d once asked her why bother and she only gave me: “You’ll never know when something you knew will become important.” Now though she sat cross-legged and back against the cliff side, staring out past the precipice she was perched on. I took one more cautious step and my foot met with a buried twig. The sound it made echoed and Rook turned her head slightly but so much that I could see her face.

            “Yes?” Her tone didn’t sound hostile.

             I wasn’t sure what to say although she probably didn’t realize it was me. All I could think to say was, “Well, up bright and early aren’t we?”

            “Oh.” I watched her turn back to whatever she had been working on. I was close enough that I could see flakes of snow trapped in the strands of her wild hair. Rook sounded less than thrilled that it was my voice.

            “Oh?” Dropping my cane aside, I sat on the ground and slid downward toward her. When I landed I took care not to stir up too much powder. Despite my intentions a few clumps of snow slid onto her. “That’s all you have for me?” Bringing my hand to where ice touched her, I moved to brush some of it aside when she caught my wrist, a quill still in hand.

            “What do you want, Teldryn?” Letting me go, Rook reached to her other side and dipped the quill in an inkwell that was close beside her. I still couldn’t see past the hair around her but I watched as her hand furiously scribbled.

            Frowning, I placed a hand on her cold cheek and slid back her hair so as to tuck it behind her ear. She looked a little silly in the heavy coat that was a little too big for her; however, the heat that rose from her body was far warmer than the air around it. Rook allowed me that much contact so I pressed my luck and wove my fingers down through to their ends. The writing stopped.

            “Teldryn,” she sighed. “ _What do you want?_ ” Still there was no eye contact.

            And I couldn’t really answer her. There wasn’t a good one. My hand stilled on the small of her back but no matter how hard I tried, my mind refused to help my tongue. Even if she weren’t doomed to Oblivion there was no possible way that I would ever get used to the way Rook shut me out at times. Seeing her now made me realize just how much I had missed her, worried about her. Now that we were together again all I could think to do was shake my head. Against my own wishes, I could feel my eyes well up with moisture. I grabbed her and held her tightly.

            The gesture obviously startled her but I didn’t let her go, clasping my hands tight upon her back. “Gods, what in the name of Azura must I _do_?” I whispered against her hair. “I will be losing you and you can’t even give me the decency to at least _act_ like you care about me.”

            Slowly I felt her own hands reach up around me and I heard her muffled response, “I don’t deserve any of it.”

            I pushed Rook back gently and smiled at her. “Don’t deserve what?”

            When she looked up at me I couldn’t help but smile wider. Clean and bright, her face didn’t show any signs of the previous maladies that were plaguing her before. I could have sworn that she was far younger than she had previously hinted at. The words that escaped her mouth though startled me. “I’m a monster. No better than Miraak.”

            My mouth refused to stay shut and my brow furrowed. “ _What_?”

            She pushed me away but still kept me in her sights. “I’m so gods damned tired of you and Frea and everyone else on this _gods damned_ continent acting as if I’m not. That dragon,” she shook her head and her voice broke. “I _tortured_ it. _Mocked_ it.”

            And I could feel anxiety rising in my throat, hearing her foreign words echo in my mind. I didn’t see her kill the dragon but in my gut her words rang true. Instead I decided to give into her thoughts. “What did you say to me? To it?”

            Slowly Rook closed up her journal and capped the well of ink. “Horrible things.” Her eyes didn’t move from the ground. “Not to you, really. But to it.” The tone of her voice was hushed and low.

            The way the snow was falling into her hair must have finally bothered her because she shook some of it out absentmindedly. I had no response for that but continued asking, “If you’re a monster then how did you save me, hmm? Monsters go around saving people frequently?”

            Again, Rook shook her head. “The only reason you aren’t dead is because of whatever’s happening to me.”

            That was more than confusing. “Come again?”

            She fiddled with some of the fur lining the edge of her coat. “I don’t have that kind of power. I mean, obviously I _do_ but it wasn’t something that happened of my own will.”

            There was a tangible silence hanging between us now. I tried not to think about how Rook had acted, how she wasn’t herself. Now she was telling me she hadn’t consciously done anything to save me. All of the things that were just _off_. Wrong. “So why are you out here?” I changed the subject to something less troubling.

            “Just, um…” Rook glanced over at the book and back at me again, “A letter, actually.”

            That was interesting. “To who?”

            Shooting me a venomous look, she spat, “None of your business.”

            Luckily, the poison had lost some of its effect since it had struck me more than once. Cocking my head, I smirked. “Mmhmm. Writing a love letter, eh? Is it to me? Is it your declaration of undying devotion?”

            _That_ got a rise out of her—it always amused me to watch how red her face could get when she was embarrassed. “ _No_.” Despite her mortification she grabbed her journal, opened up to the section she had closed, and neatly tore out a page. Folding it, she fumbled around in her pouch for something. Eventually, a key was produced. “But I think I could trust you to take care of this.” Placing the key on top of the letter, Rook handed me the bundle.

            “What is this?” When I went to unfold the letter, she slapped my wrist. “Ow! What was that for?”

            “The letter _isn’t_ for you,” a pointed finger warned me. “Gods, you are full of yourself. I just need you to deliver it for me. Should be fairly easy.” As if she just realized something, another hand plunged into her pouch and handed me a few bags of coins, heavy and bulging with metal. “Well, I suppose as long as you have the coin. You should know the place well enough.”

            My hands couldn’t quite carry all she was giving me. “Am I taking a trip?”

            “You should know the place _very_ well,” she repeated and for the first time, she smiled. “Windhelm.”

            I scowled. “ _Windhelm_? What on Nirn would I go back there for?”

            “A personal favor. For me.”

            I groaned and tried to ignore the fact that I was listening to her last wishes. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

            “Nothing too difficult. There’s a woman who frequents the New Gnisis Cornerclub, an Altmer named Niranye.” She dug back into her pouch to presumably grab more gold but stopped unexpectedly. Her voice hitched a little as she fingered whatever she had found. “Just… give it to her and that’s it.”

            I nodded and crammed everything Rook had given me into my own pouch but couldn’t shake the feeling she was upset. “What’s wrong?”

            Pulling her hand out, she produced the ring I had seen a while back while, taking care of her in the towers leading to the mine. Plain and silver with some inscription written on the inside. “Nothing important.”

            But her look told me otherwise. As she rolled it around between her index finger and thumb, I watched her eyes follow it intently. “You could just tell me,” I suggested, shrugging. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”     

            And in a moment of shocking honestly, Rook admitted, “You could find out that this ring was meant to bind me in marriage.”        

            I had seen her kill dragons but there was absolutely nothing that could have prepared me for that admission. “To Brynjolf?” I guessed, my heart feeling a little fractured. Did she still love him? If she did, then what of it—it wasn’t as if Rook and I could be together. She would soon meet her end on this plane.

            But right now, she was still here with _me_.

            Nodding she explained further, “I was joking around, saying that I couldn’t imagine Mara approving anything I did,” she laughed a little at that. “So I said, ‘The Argonians have rings, so why can’t we?’” Another bout of laughter. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she whispered to herself, still rolling the ring around.

            I had never wanted to punch a man so badly in my life. Here she was, facing the end of her time on Nirn—at the hands of a power-mad dragon priest—and he still permeated her thoughts. To add insult to injury, it was as if I wasn’t even a passing thought at this moment. Impulsively, foolishly, I reached over and ripped the ring from her hand. With all the force I could must, I chucked it into the sea.

            Rook turned to me, mouth gaping and eyes opened wide. “What in—”

            “To Oblivion with him,” my hand brushed the air as if erasing his name. “Mara be _damned_.”

            “Teldryn, this—”

            And before she could get another word out I reached for her jaw and pulled her in close. Against the cold, her lips felt hot albeit chapped from the wind. While I relished the taste of fire in her mouth, I felt her lose some of the force behind her own actions. Slowing my motions, I tried persuading her to stay with me, to not move from the moment. Blessedly, she granted me that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aeta's story is full of important details that is not in the The Guardian and the Traitor book--which is why I had her tell the story instead of having Teldryn reading the book to her. This is my subtle commentary on how oral history can differ from history that is passed through books or education. And--if you're interested--UESP is a great resource for looking at books in all the TES games. Not the only one but one of my favorites. So, Aeta's story talks about Miraak's soul and how it has been bound. I'd pay attention to this. 
> 
> And Rook. Well, looks like she's not doing well and she's back to pushing people away. She's writing something that needs to be delivered to Windhelm: she doesn't expect to ever go back. But she trusts Teldryn to carry out her last requests--a big deal. Oh. And her and Brynjolf's relationship seems to be more than she's led on. But she's said that (from her perspective) that he used her, exploited her. Perhaps maybe something more than him breaking her heart and her being an innocent victim. Relationships are complicated.
> 
> There's been a quick turn around on an update but thanks to the guests who've left kudos and a special thanks to SuFin20 for their speedy comment/editing check!
> 
> Next chapter? Rook feels guilty and something confusing comes to light. And Rook reads more books, desperately trying to figure out what's going on.


	37. Quick and Bright: Part I

My crowded mind cleared when he kissed me. There were too many thoughts, too many things that I wanted to say but couldn’t. Teldryn was better at conveying his feelings with single actions. Throwing the ring I had held onto for so many years sent a loud and clear message: Forget him, _I’m_ here. The thought frightened me so much that I momentarily failed to remember that I was supposed to be kissing him back. That didn’t stop him from trying to remind me. I relented and allowed him to continue.

            When we finally pulled away from one another, he was flushed and breathless. “Gods,” he whispered. “I’m _so_ going to miss doing that.”

            Gingerly, I brought my fingertips to stroke my lips and the skin around it—raw and red from Teldryn’s overgrown beard, the stubble having rubbed the delicate skin until it was sore. Part of me was dizzy, another part furious. He wasn’t listening. He hadn’t _seen_ what I had done. Instead he was ignoring my complaints. “Are you quite finished?” I desperately tried to sound angry but my voice betrayed me, coming out as a little sad instead.

            Leaning his forehead against mine, he stayed a hand behind my head. “I’ll never be finished with you,” he laughed joylessly. “But for now, I suppose so.”

            Frowning, I tried searching his face for anything to give me some hold onto his attention. All I received was a half-lidded stare and a pair of tired red eyes. “Are you going to refuse to listen to me? Even by my standards I’ve done something repulsive.” I lowered my voice to a whisper, not wanting to admit my actions out loud.

            All Teldryn did was give me a sort of forlorn smirk. “Were you really going to be someone’s wife?”

            I pushed him away, huffing angrily at him and throwing my hands into the air. “Really, Teldryn? You want me to be sensitive to your gods damned feelings and you completely ignore mine?”

            He brought his legs up so that he could relax his arms around his shins, hands loosely clasped together. Hanging his head down for a moment, he met my gaze and sighed, “Weren’t you the one who said _not_ to give your feelings any consideration?”

            It was like taking a mace to the chest, hearing my own words thrown back into my face.  Words of protest died on my tongue. I almost added that I had once told him I wasn’t going to give his feelings a second thought either but let the thought pass. It would become an unsettled argument. The only action that seemed safe was to regard the quiet sea ahead of us.

            Almost suddenly the sun broke against the horizon—soft light spilt against the calm waters and the snow that was still falling became backlit against the pinks and oranges and yellows that the clouds were brushing along the sky. A few listless birds soared over the sea, squawking out horrible notes. Clouds began to break apart in the cold morning air, becoming wispy and thin. I sighed but no words could be found.

             “I’ve been having nightmares.” He waved a hand to one side as if ask me to disregard the comment. His sudden admission was accompanied by, “Of you.”

            In my mind the response would have been thoughtful silence followed by slow, cautious words of reassurance that, no, he shouldn’t be utterly terrified of a thief and assassin who had the soul and power of a dragon. Nothing to be worried about when a person of ill-repute has the power of the immortals.  Instead my head lowered to uselessly examine one of my palms, my other hand tracing the lines etched in my flesh. Instead of saying this, I only stared out at the sunrise and desperately tried to lose myself in the lush colors being painted across the sky. Teldryn only looked away and, out of the corner of my eye, I watched him absent-mindedly dig into the snow with the tips of fingers. It almost pained me to see him like this, so unlike his usual mirthful self.

            My tongue ran across my bottom lip, the bitter taste of iron lingering from how raw they had been chafed. Foolishly, the first words out of my mouth were, “You need to shave.” Before I could react, a densely packed ball of snow struck me on the side of my face. “Teldryn!” Briskly my hand went to swipe snow out of my hair as he laughed loudly, his deep rasp echoing through the empty morning.

            “You should see your face, _m’sera_!” He doubled into himself, laughing harder and I fumed.

            “ _What_ is wrong with you?” My mouth pursed and my brow furrowed as one of my hands balled into a fist.

            “ _Me_?” He brought a hand to his chest and dropped his jaw exaggeratedly in mock innocence. “ _You’re_ the _monster_. Apparently. Don’t you think that a snowball to the face is a bit of a light punishment for how _horrible_ you are?”

            My muscles relaxed and I raised an eyebrow. “You’re mocking me,” I answered flatly.

            Teldryn allowed a moment to pass as he cleared his throat. “Maybe.” He gave me a cocky smirk while rubbing his stubble. “And I suppose I could use a shave.” He ran his hand through his messy hair. “This _is_ a little annoying.”

            “Mmhmm.” My legs uncurled themselves and I rose up. “I know a thing or two about _annoyances_.” I gave him a light smile, relieved that he seemed willing to move past this conversation I didn’t want to be having right here right now with him. If I couldn’t convince him I had done something that wrenched at my gut then I could at least get him to shut up about Brynjolf. It was enough Teldyrn _knew_ about him but blurting out that I had stupidly hoped to be married to him was something completely different.

            Teldryn looked up at me as I began carefully climbing back onto the main of the island but as he went to raise himself up, his right leg buckled slightly. Sighing, I rolled my eyes and hopped the short distance from where I had climbed. I was quite aware I had deliberately not inquired about his health from either Frea or him. “Your leg?” I reluctantly asked.

            He only shrugged. “I suppose it isn’t quite up to just _everything_ yet. But then again, _you_ try surviving a dragon attack and getting back into fighting shape in a few days.” My only response was to place my hands on my hips and raise my eyebrows. It took Teldryn less than a moment to realize what he’d said. “Oh. Right.”

            “Here.” Offering him my hand, he clasped my wrist and together we pulled so that he was on his feet. Steadying himself on my arm, he gave me a sort of half-smile. I squinted at him. “ _What_?” My voice was thick with suspicion.

            He held his hands up. “Nothing at all.”

            I turned and lifted a foot onto the nearest jutting rock. Hoisting myself up, my hand gripped another cold, sharp rock. Another lift of my foot and I easily scrambled upward to the edge nearest the village. Just as I was about to raise to my full height, one last look behind me revealed that Teldryn was still struggling scaling the short distance. He glanced upward at me and caught me staring.

            With a sheepish smile, he only offered, “It was easier getting down here.”

            I let out a begrudged moan as I bent down, lowered both of my arms and commanded, “C’mon, you lazy milkdrinker.”

            Although he went ahead and wound his cold fingers around my wrists, he complained, “My, that’s harsh. Must I constantly remind you that a dragon snapped my leg in two?”

            The extra aid helped him steady himself. I leaned back against my heels to allow the force to provide an extra affordance. Teldryn was a fair bit heavier than I was and for the briefest of moments the thought crossed my mind that I didn’t have the strength to help him. Grunting, my knees dropped and my arms strained further. “Y’know, I’ve already hauled your arse across Solstheim once already.” One final tug and he was able to lift himself upward without my help. Which was fortunate because I ended up falling flat on my back, the tugging throwing me off balance.

            I was staring up at the newly awakened sky when Teldryn’s hand came into view. “Well, look at here, I can return the favor.” When I waved him away, he only said, “Suit yourself.” I watched as his boots stepped by me and then bent down to pick something up that was out of my field of vision. I frowned when I hopped to my feet and saw him leaning against a cane. Not knowing what to add, I simply fell into step beside him and did my best not to stare. The only sound left between us was the gentle wash of the waves crashing up against the cliffside.

            And what was there to say? _Sorry about the leg, Teldryn, but I_ did _slow down time itself to save you but don’t get excitied because whatever madness is taking over me was really the only reason it worked._ No, no, that wouldn’t do. I stole a glance at his cane again. I certainly couldn’t get him to understand how despicable my actions weren’t. I couldn’t convince Frea. By Oblivion, I couldn’t even convince the Blades that Paarthurnax wasn’t a danger. Dragons and mortals simply didn’t mix. When the Dragonborn felled a dragon that was cause for celebration—that certainly didn’t mean I relished in the death of them. And I wasn’t Miraak. I had to keep that thought close to myself for reassurance.

            I could hear his cane digging into the snow, crunching the ground unharmoniously with our footsteps. It grated on my nerves, reminding me of what had transpired. After only a few seconds, I had to fill the silence. Instead of words of comfort or kindness, I jabbed directly at the source of my irritation. “You must have lied to me about your age, you handle that cane too well. Let me guess, at _least_ two hundred season cycles passed.”

            He snorted and threw back, “Why? Would you like me more knowing I was an older man?”

            “That’s not what I meant,” I grumbled and threw the hood of my coat over my head, making the heat from the blood rising to my cheeks more than a little unbearable.

            Blessedly, he allowed my comment to pass without argument and instead answered me seriously, “I’ve told you before, I have an older brother. Now _he’s_ about two hundred seasons passed. Not quite though. Still shy about half a century or less. Mind you, we’re both still called children by some of the older Mers in Blacklight. So, either way, I’m not _old_.”

            We had stopped outside of Frea’s dwelling but I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to leave Teldryn just yet so I carried on. Listening to him talk about his brother left me a little wistful at times that bordered on melancholy. Never the less, I pressed him, “It never ceases to amaze me how Mer can talk so casually about living for centuries at a time.”

            “I suppose it would.” He shifted and I thought there was something sad behind his smile. “Since Bretons burn quick and bright.”

            I did my best to hold in my amusement at the comment but I chuckled a little. There probably wasn’t a Breton alive who hadn’t heard that. “I suppose that is what _most_ people say about my kind. Magic wasn’t meant for Men—burns out our lives quicker than most.” My hands tugged at the sleeves that almost came over my hands. When I slid out this morning, I hadn’t thought to find a pair of gloves. The tips of my fingers began to feel slightly numb despite the lack of wind. The snowfall was lessening but still steady. This was a silly conversation but I didn’t want to discuss dragons or marriage. I had spent the last couple of years being plagued by both.

            Teldryn only continued to smile sadly at me. I watched his chest rise and fall with heavy breaths but he had no other words for me. Never in my wildest musings would I have guessed that he could be silent, not adding anything to the quiet that had fallen over us. Struggling to fill his role in our relationship, I grasped for words. “It’s cold out.” Tugging at my sleeves again, I decided to throw back my hood.

At that he started laughing softly to himself. I almost felt angry but once the moment settled, I realized how foolish I sounded talking about the gods damned weather. “Truly, the Dragonborn is the voice of an Era.”

            I slapped at his arm so lightly that it was a tap. “Well, I _am_ ,” I corrected. “Everything about me comes down to my words and my voice and my tongue.”

            “So you’d like to talk about your tongue now?” He smirked at me and cocked an eyebrow. Leaning in close to me, I could feel his hot breath on my cheek.

            “Shut it, Sero,” I whispered to him, closing my eyes and moving in to meet him. We were a hair’s width away from embracing when the door to the dwelling creeked open and Frea popped out.

            “Oh!” Her eyes widened slightly as I pushed him away quickly, looking at her and feeling heat in my cheeks. “Good morning. Hungry?” Teldryn just laughed again.

* * *

 

            This felt a little surreal. We were all sitting around the fire pit, gentle flames licking at the air every now and then. Frea and Teldyrn were chatting about… something. I wasn’t really paying attention. My spoon was pushing around an apple chunk floating around in the stew in my bowl, the brown liquid thick and muddy.

            “…and then came around…” I caught Teldryn saying, his hands moving to match his words. I picked the apple chunk up in the ladle of the spoon and then let it drop, plopping back into the bowl.

            “…what about the…” Frea asked, rapt with attention. Both her and Teldryn’s empty bowls had been stacked and set beside her. She was dressed only in a roughspin shirt and a pair of thick leather pants, her feet swaddled in an equally thick pair of fur-lined boots.

            And for the first time in a long while, I heard Brynjolf’s voice in my head clear as a day on the top of a mountain. “Where’s your mind at now, lass?” He’d lean over my shoulders while I was working figures, a stack of books beside me. He’d give me a cocksure smile that I came to realize was his look of pleasure that I was hard at work for the guild.

            “Somewhere far from here, Bryn.” I would scratch something out and scribble something else down. “Far off and over the mountains,” I muttered into the book. He would then lean over and just when I thought he might kiss me on the cheek, his finger would follow my marks and point at something.

            “You’ve made a mistake here, lass.”

            “Rook?” Teldryn’s voice interrupted my thoughts and my spoon dropped into my bowl, some of the broth splashing onto my sleeve. I snapped my head up and saw both of them staring at me. I blinked and shook my head clear.

            “Hmm?” I was feeling suddenly a little too self-conscious wearing only a shirt and pants.

            “I asked how you were feeling,” replied Frea. She gave me a gentle smile, her hands resting on the bench she and Teldryn were sitting on. “You have not taken a bite.” She motioned to my bowl—I looked down at my stew and suddenly realized that my bowl was still full.

            Glancing at Teldryn’s cane laying on the bench beside him my stomach turned. He must have been watching my eyes because when I looked up, his gaze caught mine and he frowned. “Everything’s fine,” I managed to get out. Setting the bowl aside, I added, “Just too full from the stew I ate earlier this morning.”

            As she rose her hands moved deftly to pick up the bowls. “I have fruit or some bread if you would rather.”

            I shook my head. “No thanks.” There was reading to be done: the thick stack of books from Apocrypha still a constant thought lingering in the back of my mind. “However, I will need m—” I caught myself. “ _The_ book that I left here a few months ago.   _Epistolary_ —”

            “Do not say its name,” her voice sounded expectedly morose and I didn’t need to guess why. “I do have it though.” My feet didn’t move and I observed her, the way she sighed as she bent down to the chest and unlatched the old, worn metal. The lid creaked open slowly and one of her hands delved in and grabbed whatever was on top. Frea lifted the book which was now bound in a thick pelt and tied like a package with a thin, binding rope.

            When it was presented to me, she added, “It sat out there for days, half-buried in snow. We buried my father but the wilds could not bury this book. Every time I spied the black corners peering out from the ground, I…” there was a catch in her voice, so large that she had to swallow and I feared she might cry. “Eventually I had to take care of it.”

            No matter how many seasons would pass, I knew Frea would never truly move past this. I only moved to grab the book and walked past her, intending to secure it in my pouch. Bending down, I shoved it into in and when I stood up, saw Frea watching me intently.

            “I must go and make my rounds. Edla is worried about Nikulas and Yrsa still has nightmares from being under Miraak’s control.” Her voice went quiet. “It helps her to have an ear that will listen to her worries. I will be back before midday.”

            Before I could say anything, she had turned around and was out the door. It shut behind her and the sound it left in its wake was deafening. I returned to Teldryn to find him looking at me expectantly.

            “Just out of pure curiousity, where are _my_ things?” He had leaned slightly back, stretching out his legs and crossing his arms in relaxation.

            A nervous laugh escaped me. “Ah, well… they’re… around.”

            “Around?” He frowned at me.

            Turning back to where my things are, I called back to him, “I have your sword and your helm and your cuirass and your belt…” As I rattled off his things, I snatched the respective items from my pouch. What wasn’t in there was sitting beside the bed. “See?” I hopped up and presented them to him. As he grabbed them from me, I smiled widely. His eyes narrowed.

            Teldryn surveyed the items I had handed to him. “And the _rest_ of my armor?”

            Sitting down beside him, I put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and did my best to soften the blow. “Teldryn, _sweet roll_.” My mouth couldn’t really take much more of this smiling.

            “ _What_ did you _do_ to my armor?” The words were low and soft but I could hear the anger behind them. “And did you just call me _sweet roll_?”

            Throwing my hands up in frustration I blurted out, “Well, sorry if the dragon didn’t clamp down just a _hair_ softer. I had to break it it apart to tend to your leg.”

            “No, you didn’t.” He shoved his things beside him. “What did you really do with it?”

            “I _did_ ,” my voice straining to inject more truth into the words. “My apologies for not taking it with me. It’s now buried underneath snow and dragon remains and gods know what else in the wilds.” My hand motioned to outside.

            Teldryn rubbed his forehead in frustration. “That armor was specially crafted for me by Grendis Rolovo.” My blank stare elicited an explanation. “One of the finest armorsmiths in Morrowind. You didn’t just _break it apart_.” Turning to me he held on tight to one of my arms. “You’re fairly strong but you aren’t _that_ tough.”

            “Ah,” I held a finger up to argue with him, “And I’m not _that_ good at restoration magic either, yet, here you are with a…” I looked down at his leg and then, involuntarily, to his cane, “…leg.”

            Teldryn tried convincing me once that his tattoos were meaningless but I secretly suspected it that they were there to accentuate his already deep Mer features. So when he scowled at me, brows furrowed deeply and his high cheeks pulled down by his frown, the look was intensified by the markings on his face. He let out a sigh and relaxed. “ _Fiiiine_ , but you’re going to make it up to me.”

            My eyes widened. “That’s it?”

            He turned to dig around in his pouch and I could see him nod. “Not quite but it’s a start.” Facing back to me he held a shaving blade in one hand. “Besides, you were one complaining earlier.”

* * *

 

            Slathring on another thick layer of bubbly lye soap, my hands smoothed back Teldryn’s unruly hair and edged the blade to the side.

            “Don’t slit my throat.” I could hear the sarcasm dripping from his words.

            As I scraped the blade gently at his scalp, a snort espaced me. “You laugh but you must have forgotten that you’re talking to the woman who’s slit many throats. What makes you think a petty mercenary would hang on my conscience?” My hand followed behind the blade and wiped off the thick mixture. Hanging to the edges of my palm were strands of his hair, clinging onto my flesh.

            “Mmm.” The thoughtful noise was followed by a light shrug. Teldryn was smarter than to jerk around while I had a blade in my hand. It hadn’t taken any argument to convince him that I needed him to be bare-chested while I shaved his head but there was a little fight from him when I suggested he just shave his head completely. “ _No_ ,” he had answered emphatically.

            I finished shaving down the back of his neck and then dipped both the razor and my hands into the bucket. The hot water thick with soap burned my fingers. Coming up again, I brushed more water over the side of his head to smooth out the ragged edges the blade had missed the first time. As a few streams of water threatened to roll down his forehead, the side of my palm ran flush with his brow and wiped upward. “Sorry about that,” I mumbled as I continued work.

            “No worries.” The slight sound of the blade against his skin replied to him. Suddenly, he said, “You asked me a few days ago, why I was here. On Solstheim.”

            Had I? It took me a moment to recall but I grinned. Ildari. I still had her heartstone. I had kept calling him a bad mercenary and had indulged in my curiousity about why he was here. “Oh? And why is the best spellsword in Morrowind here on this pathetic island?” I ran more water down the other side of his head and worked in more lye.

            “Pathetic,” he agreed. “I don’t know why I decided to make my way to Solstheim to seek my fortune. I should have stayed home, back to Blacklight. After spending a good part of my life in Skyrim, I had tired of it. Although, I suppose that I couldn’t quite bring myself to admit that maybe I was bored with flushing out _bandits_. I just didn’t know what else to do. Perhaps I’d hoped the island would give me something better.”

            Another scrape and I rinsed off the blade again. “What? The mines of Raven Rock didn’t hold any appeal for you?”

            The joke obviously amused him. “Ha! I never fancied becoming a miner. Didn’t want to spend the rest of my days cracking rocks.” Even looking at him from above, I could see his mouth widen in a grin. “It’d be a shame to have my handsome face hidden in the mines all day, don’t you think?”

            “It’d be a blessing to have your mouth covered underneath there, _that_ much is certain,” I mused. Dipping back into the bucket, water pooled in the cup of my palm and I ran it over the side I had just finished. I used my other hand to card my fingers through his mohawk, fluffing it upwards. I asked a little more seriously, “But you never thought of becoming a soldier? Captain Valeth wouldn’t be willing to put you to work?”

            His own hand smoothed back my work, his mohawk now a little longer and stood up less than before. “You said it yourself, this island is pathetic. I’ve no idea why House Redoran is so insistant on maintaining Solstheim. I’d be spending my days felling ash spawn.” Moving his hand down to his scraggly looking beard, he turned his head to me. “Unless you have a mirror, I’ll need you to take care of this as well.” He smirked. “You’ve not injured me yet so I suppose I’ll trust you with that thing near my throat.”

            “I’ll try to restrain myelf.” My feet moved so that I could face him. When I met his eyes, my mouth moved upward against my will. “But things are looking up for Raven Rock now that the mine’s open… thanks to their _hero_.”

            Teldryn rolled his eyes but maintained his cocky smile. “Well, it’s a nice change. But still, that’s just the mine.” His finger traced against his jaw. “Don’t muck this up now.”

            Shaking my head I brought a soap-covered hand to his face and warned, “Unless you shut your mouth, you’ll get nothing but lye all on your tongue. I’m going to shave you clean and there’ll be no complaints.” Wiping my hand on my pants, I mumbled, “You’re as bad as a Nord fretting about your beard and your armor.”

            He only _hmmed_ at me in displeasure. As I went to work, my mind thought back to his question to me.

_Were you always a thief?_

Frowning at the thought, I worked the razor down. I could feel his gaze on my face so my mouth flattened and refeused to show any expression. “You know, I wasn’t always the Dragonborn.”

He didn’t nod but held up a hand and twirled his forefinger around, beckoning me to continue.

“Well, maybe I’ve always been,” I conceded, my mind thinking back to long neglected memories. “But I mean _really_ being the _dovjoor_ , the _dovahkiin._ ” The razor tugged hard at some hair and he winced. “Sorry,” I apologized before continuing. “You have more experience as a mercenary than I do as a dragon hunter. _The_ dragon hunter.” Again, another twirl of his finger.

I could feel myself getting lost in the motions of shaving him, the same feeling that I got when mixing potions washed over me. My tongue felt a little loose and I wasn’t sure what more he wanted so I improvised. “The ultimate dragon slayer, the Blades call me.” I laughed flatly at that. “Not that they’re talking to me right now. But, unlike you seem to think, not all of Tamriel knows or cares about me.” I rinsed the blade off. “Oh, how the Nords do though.”

Getting lost in the motions of the blade, my thoughts had trailed off. It wasn’t until his finger came into my view again that I realized he wanted even more. “You know how Nords are. Stubborn. Cling onto their legends like a child’s blanket. So much so that I’m not really the Dragonborn to them.”

At that Teldryn stayed my wrist. “What?” he asked more out of surprise than confusion.

Grinning, I shook his hand off. “Stay still. And you think that the Nords are happy to look to me as the realization of their beloved legends and prophecies? Being a woman is one thing, but not being a Nord? No, no. That doesn’t quite satisfy them.” Dipping my hand back into the water, I rinsed off the half of his jaw that I had finished, the flesh a bit softer and paler than the rest of his face. “Legends are forever. I am not. Even when I die, their legend will prevail regardless of who I was.” I took a step back to examine my work. Satisfied, I continued, “The Dragonborn will always be a big, burly Nord man whose at least a foot taller than I and wields a steel sword while dressed in fine iron armor. Probably wears one of those ridiculous iron helmets.” My hands moved up to the side of my head, using my fingers to point upwards. “The kind with those tacky horns.”

He grinned at me and felt the side of his face I had finished, running his hand over the now smooth flesh. “So I’m guessing the _real_ Dragonborn isn’t a low life like you?”

Chuckling I continued working. “That’s right. Other than Miraak, I’m probably the worst of all Dragonborns. But, like Sheogorath said, how do you compete with Martin Septim?”

Again Teldryn stayed my hand. “This really isn’t fair. You finally rattle on wantonly and I’m forced to stay silent.”

Sighing I stopped. “You act like I planned this. Have something to add then?”

“Where would I begin?”

It was a little difficult to take him seriously with half his face shaven and the other half covered in soap with stubble poking out here and there. “Gods, Teldryn, I’m beginning to think Neloth is right about you. Surely you aren’t so stupid that you _don’t_ know who Martin Septim is.” Frowning, I crossed my arms low and relaxed, one of my hips cocked.

Waving me off, he shook his head. “I _know_ who Martin Septim is. Gods damn, Rook, I’m a _mercenary_. Sometimes I look at the coin I make. But _you_ aren’t an empress. I thought all the Dragonborns were Septims and emperors. Not the man-dragons like the Nords in Windhelm made them out to be. Like Talos.”

I went back to finishing his face while he sat silently. “ _He_ was the first _Septim_ to be Dragonborn. Saint Alessia was the first _Dragonborn_ —not a Septim. All that was needed to seal off Oblivion was one of her heirs in possession of…” After one complete scrape down his cheek, I noticed a small trick of blood against his skin. Pressing my thumb hard against it for a moment, I tried to think. My time at the college had been years and years ago. After all that reading, some of the contents of the books were lost to me. “…an amulet? Either way, it contained the respective souls of all the emperors.” Releasing my thumb, I noticed the blood had stopped and there was a smear of it on the pad of my thumb. “It was just through her bloodline.”

“So like the masks?” He spoke before the razor met his cheek again.

“Come again?” I was looking at the pad of my thumb.

“You said you thought an enchantment was holding souls to the masks of dragon priests,” he reminded me, frowning as he touched the part of his cheek that I had nicked. “Is it bad?”

Shaking my head I realized what he was saying, “Well, I never thought about it like that. I suppose maybe it is the same. I’ll have to ask Neloth about it.”

“Not so soon, I hope.” Teldryn sighed. “You’ve only just gotten back on your feet after being asleep for… five days?”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Sleep so good that you’re ready to take on Tamriel at a moment’s notice?”

I shrugged. “I suppose.” But something nagged at me. “Some strange dreams…”

            He winked at me. “I hope it involved _at least_ me.”

            Groaning, I gently flung water from my fingertips into his face. “No, something else. Something—” _Wait_. Oh gods. “Miraak.”

            He stared at me. “Are you feeling alright?”

            “Yes, fine.” I waved his concern away. “Miraak’s the first Dragonborn.”

            “I won’t ask how you know that.”

            “That’s not important.”

            “ _No_?” Teldryn snorted.

            “How can Saint Alessia _and_ Miraak both be the first Dragonborn?”

            He arched a brow. “A fine question when you put it like that.”

* * *

 

            My nose was so deep in the stack of books I was surrounded by I could smell Apocrycha on them. The few stubs of candles that I could gather were lit, flickering here and there. It was close to sunset now and since my realization, I hadn’t moved from the small end table beside the bed. It was cramped but I had pulled out a drawer to make for more space and pulled a chair over and placed a book in my lap.

            Earlier, when Frea returned, she took one look at me and asked Teldryn if something was wrong. All I heard from him was a curt, “She’s busy.” I remember half-smiling at that.

            As I flipped another page, I felt him lean over my shoulder. “Anything riveting?” When I didn’t respond he only sighed. “How many times have you poured over these things?”

            Shrugging, I tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “Not enough obviously.” My eyes scanned over a page of _The Lost Prophecy_ for the fifth time when I saw his finger point to an open page beside it.

            “What’s wrong with this text?”

I gave his question a moment’s thought and explained, “It’s just backwards. It’s an invocation. Well, the invocations are correct but the blasphemes are backwards. Here,” reaching over, I tore the page out and, with another hand, grabbed a candle. The page was blank on back so I turned it around and held the candle behind it so Teldryn could see. “Better?”

            Watching his mouth move with each word, my hand moved the candle downward as he read each line. “These are to the Daedric princes.” Not a question. I didn’t bother confirming the fact.  “Well.” The surprise in his voice was tangible this time. “That’s a little concerning.”

            “What?”

            “ _To Hermaeus Mora who holds the Paper to the Light_.”

            “And why is _that_ troubling?”

            “Oh, so you’ve done this on purpose?” He nodded to my hands and I realized why he found the passage disquieting.

            “I’m _fine_ , Teldryn. We used to do this sort of thing at the college all the time. Paltry tricks.”

            He nodded and continued to read. “ _To Sanguine who tastes the Shaven Fruit_ … My, my. _What_ a blaspheme.”

            I rolled my eyes. “See? That’s all there was to it.” I took the page and crammed it into the book while the candle was placed back on the edge of the end table.

            “Mmm.” He kissed the top of my head and left me to my work but not before advising me to eat something before the sun sets. I simply nodded and waved my hand at him, turning back to the books. My concentration had been broken though and I couldn’t ignore the hushed whispers of Frea and Teldryn. It _almost_ sounded like they were on the brink of a well-worn argument. I leaned back to get a better listen. I couldn’t hear much but Frea’s voice was easier to pick out than his low, accented one.

            “…I am sure she would…” Frea began. Teldryn muttered something and Frea replied, “…Tharstan would accompany her _and_ pay…”

            My ears perked at that and before Teldryn could say another word, I called out to them, “You _do_ know I can hear both of you, right?”

            At that, both of them went silent and I smiled widely. Not bothering to get up from my seat, I simply threw my elbows over the back of my chair and waited for them. Both of them eventually filled the door frame and when I turned to face them, neither looked especially happy.      “So, what is going on?” Running my hand through my hair, I stretched out my legs and yawned.

            Before Frea could get a word in, Teldyrn shoved his way through. “I’ve _told_ her not to bother you with it.”

            Frea only crossed her arms. “Rook, there is a historian in the village who seeks your help. He wishes to travel into a Nord ruin that he has recently discovered.”

            I deflated. Teldryn had done the right thing by staving off Frea’s request. “Nord ruins?” I snorted. “Hardly worth my time right now.”

            But before I could move back to my reading, she quickly added, “It may help you in your quest to defeat Miraak.”

            I stopped in mid-turn and Teldryn only glared at her. “How so?”

            She cleared her throat and smiled. “The Skaal have a legend about a traitor who…”

            And this sounded _awfully_ familiar. “…battled with someone else and ripped Solstheim from Skyim?” The look on both of their faces was of shock, obviously surprised that this wasn’t news to me. “If this Tharstan can tell me more about that, then I’ll meet with him tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said that it was important that making sure someone figured out Miraak was the Dragonborn would be important? Originally, this scene occurred but it was Teldryn who made the observation... and then, whoops, when the heck did he find that out in the story? Before this revision, never. Big ol' problem there. Also, breaking apart armor with one's bare hands wouldn't be easy but when Rook's madness takes over, well, it obviously isn't just her magic that's augmented. Or maybe she used her magic in such a way to make her stronger to save Teldryn. Mystery, I suppose. "Quick and bright" is a headcanon of mine about the lifespan of Bretons--lifespans come up a lot with a Man and a Mer running around together in this story. If Teldryn lives long, nothing more sad than realizing that Rook's like is much shorter than most Men (e.g. Imperials). I imagine that Bretons only live to about 40 or 50 if they're lucky. Rook's age has been kept at vague so I'll leave you to guess for now. Also, looks like Rook remembered that story Neloth told her about a traitor and the island. Oh! And I still highly suggest looking up any books I mention in the story because the backward text thing is actually in the TES universe! I like peppering in small details like this for careful readers who want to find something new to enjoy if they re-read.
> 
> Thank you to all the lovely guests who left kudos as well as some shout outs to makeMYday, Kbean, Altareen, and MissyMysterious for letting me know you guys dig what I'm doing! And, the ever diligent SuFin20 has been so fantastic to leave such kinds words and editing help! Thanks to all of you!
> 
> Next chapter? Well, Rook might seem like she's in a good mood but she's still harboring guilt and things are going to roll down hill quickly. We are in the last few chapters and they will become a bit more dense so I'll hope you hang on. It's almost over! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	38. Quick and Bright: Part II

“Oh,” I whispered, running a finger across the edge of the cold sword. “This is _magnificent_.” My hand laid flat against the fuller of the blade and moved down toward the hilt and the grip, finally wrapping around the pommel. The sword hadn’t left Baldor’s outstretched hands—I was afraid to take the blade, claim it as my own. It was breath-takingly gorgeous.

            Baldor chuckled. “It isn’t going to bite, girl.”

            I let the address slide because I was too busy being entranced by soft, ragged blue mineral. Baldor had promised that it was like ebony but better. I hadn’t believed him until now. A thin wash of white swirled around it chaotically. My hand reached for it. It felt lighter than I would have expected.

            “Dear gods,” I heard Teldryn murmur beside me. As if he were possessed, his hand reached out slowly to touch the flat of the blade. And, oh, the manner in which his fingers grazed its edges made me blush unabashedly. I was _quite_ certain that he had never touched me, or any other person, like _that_.

            Caught up in the moment, I half-joked, “I’d rather bed this blade than you.”

            He only shook his head, still staring at my sword. “I could _marry_ this sword.”

            Baldor’s only response was to turn back to his worktable, laughing. “Married to the blade, eh?” He struck at whatever we had interrupted earlier. “Morwen never quite understands that I’m married to my forge. Hot and tempermental mistress requires all of my attention.” His hammer fell down hard again.

            Teldryn gave him some knowing smile, patting the sword sheathed on his belt. “My blade has been with me for years. Nothing comes between it and me.” He shot me a dirty side glance.

            Groaning I sheathed my sword into my belt. The sheath had been left empty for so long, I had almost forgotten how much of a comfort the weight was. Ignoring Teldryn’s complaint, I waved at Baldor and bid him a good day. Having already bought what I could from him, my next stop was to see Tharstan. What he could possibly offer, I was only vaguely aware of. Both Teldryn and Frea had explained his proposition but the details were still murky to me. Before I could even take a step toward the Greathall though, I turned and ran into a broad chest.

            “Oof!” The wind was pushed out of me and an even impossibly broader smile looked down on me.

            “Dragonborn!” Two wide arms enveloped me and lifted my feet easily from the ground.

            “Oh, gods be good.” I tried to struggle as I heard Teldryn’s rolling laughter behind me. “ _Please_ , put me _down_.”

            The man obliged me and slapped me on the back amicably, knocking me forwards a little. “Sorry ‘bout that.” I hadn’t noticed the young girl beside him, giggling uncontrollably. His large hand tossled her hair lovingly. “I just don’t know what my little cub would have done without me.”

            The girl just had the look of mischief about her. On her face was a toothy grin and her clothes were dusted with snow. Surprisingly, after flashing me a brilliant smile, the child received a quick hug around the shoulders from Teldryn.

“Should I _know_ any of you?” I huffed, crossing my arms.

            “You saved my father from Miraak!” The girl certainly had no lack of spirit. Her words rubbed me the wrong way though.

            “Well, _that’s_ certainly helpful, child.” I looked from her to Teldryn, who only raised his eyebrows at me. “I’m saving this whole damned island against my better judgement. Your father could be Teldryn for all I know.”

            And at that the girl, her father, the Dunmer, and the blacksmith all stared at me, albeit all for different reasons. An uncomfortable silence fell heavy over the moment. I didn’t care. Teldryn obviously did because he cleared his throat loudly and forced out nervous laughter, wrapping an arm tightly around my shoulders more out of want of privacy than companionship.

            “Such a wit, this one! How she jests,” was what he said outloud to anyone in earshot but then hissed in my ear. “Gods, do you _want_ these people to gut you? Show a little of that heroic charm you enthrall those Nords with.”

            Catching his meaning, I forced my mouth into a wide smile and laughed with him. The man who towered at least a foot above me and half a foot above Teldryn seemed a bit more at ease. “Well, I’m Oslaf, husband of Finna and father of Aeta here.”

            I cringed at the mention of Finna’s name. Aeta sized Teldryn up and demanded, “If you’ve not been taking care of yourself, I’m going to be cross.”

            “My nursemaid,” he explained, mussing her hair even further. She didn’t seem to mind. “She’s taken excellent care of me.”

            “Yes, well, young girls are known for their wonders at healing dragon wounds,” I replied, rolling my eyes. I addressed Oslaf again, “And it’s Rook, by the way. Don’t know why I must remind everyone of that.”

            “No it’s _not_.” Aeta stuck her tongue out at me while holding onto Teldryn’s arm. “It’s _Elyrrya_.”

            I felt the blood drain from my face. “Teldryn.” He threw his hands up quickly and shook his head. The now clean-shaven face made him look yonger than he actually was.

            “Completely blameless,” he tried to say but I only glared at him.

            “It must be the _dragons_ who have loose tongues then.” My hands flew up. “At any rate did you need something? I have to see Tharstan. I’m very busy.”

            Teldryn snorted and bent down to whisper something to Aeta who giggled again. Oslaf patted the ax hitched to his belt and shook his head. “Nothin’ in particular. Just wanted to thank you properly for rescuing me, was all. But if you’re looking to see Tharstan, he’s out doing something for Fanari.”

            Behind me I heard Baldor scoff, “Small wonder. He’s going to propose to her one of these days, mark my words.” The hammer came down hard against the work bench.

            “But you can play with me!” Aeta tugged hard on Teldryn’s forearm and he pretended that it belaboured him to resist her.

            Oslaf only motioned for her to run off. “Gives me time to deal with my business, so go on now.”

            And Teldryn’s darker-hued hand reached for her smaller light-skinned one. He looked back at me and gave me a strange smile that I couldn’t quite place. “C’mon, now. You can’t meet with Tharstan right now so let’s have a little fun.” Aeta tugged at him again. “Surely you aren’t going to sit around here just biding your time.”

            Sighing, my hand pinched the bridge of my nose. “There has to be _something_ else I could be doing right now.”

            Teldryn and Aeta ran off a little ways away but he called back to me, “Elyrrya, it won’t kill you.” I raised an eyebrow. “It’s easy.”

            I walked in their direction but mumbled under my breath, “Easy for a no-good laybaout mercenary, sure.”

            Aeta half-ran, half-skipped past the well in the center of the village and it surprised me that Teldryn could take such strides so easily without his cane. Against my better judgment my feet followed albeit several feet behind them. I settled onto the edge of the well, deciding that watching them would suffice. My legs swung back and forth slowly as I heard the two of them laughing and carrying on.

The girl stooped to deftly scoop a ball of snow in her hand, packed it, and then hurled it at Teldryn with all of her might. It exploded against his stomach and he made a show of grabbing his gut and doubled over.

            “Oh, I’m done for this world. Aeta the Fearless has felled yet another foe!” He dropped to his knees and feigned some strangled groaning sound as his body fell to the side and he went limp.

I bristled at the sight. This sort of thing really got under my skin. It was hard to think of these kinds of games as _fun_ when I had to constantly live it. Watching men and women die—listening to their death rattles.

            Aeta laughed heartily and picked up a stray stick, dramatically holding it upwards toward the sky. “The giant riekling is dead!”

            Teldryn’s head popped up. “ _Riekling?_ ”

            Aeta glanced down then put a finger to her lips. “You’re supposed to be _dead_.”

            He looked up at me, straining his neck and grinning. “The Dragonborn will save me from Aeta the Fearless. Help me, mighty Dragonborn! You’re the only one who can fell her!”

            This was now crossing into full-blown annoyance. Cocking my mouth I shouted to him, “I’m not the Dragonborn in this game. No Hero here, so you’ll have to save yourself.”

            He only shook his head. “Then come to my aid, stranger!”

            The damned elf wasn’t going to let me be. Groaning, I hopped down from cold stones and took my time reaching them. If they wanted me to participate, then I wasn’t going to make it easy on them. Aeta looked a little uneasy as I looked down at both of them and mused, “And who would I help? You or her?”

            “Pardon me, stranger, but I’m obviously suffering,” his voice joked but I frowned.

            “Maybe you deserve to die.” Shrugging my shoulders I looked to Aeta. “Or maybe _you_ deserve to die?”

            Aeta paled a little and Teldryn grimaced. “Rook, stop.”

            Crouching down so I could at least meet the eye level of the girl, my expression stayed resolute. “So tell me, child, who should I help?”

            And she just stared at me. I had escalated their fun into something more serious and it was obvious that my question bothered her. “I… um…”

            I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear—while pinning it up earlier, I hadn’t done a superb job so it was messy and loose. Reaching into my pouch, I extracted another hairpin and returned Aeta’s gaze. “Do you know what they call me, girl?”

            “You’re the…” I could see the lump of anxiety she swallowed down travel past her throat. “… Dragonborn.”

            Standing up and shaking my head, my arms crossed themselves. Both she and Teldryn were rapt in attention. Aeta more hesitant than curious; Teldryn more concerned than afraid.

            “I’ve been called that, yes: the doom-driven Hero of dragon’s blood. The Dragon of the North, star-blessed and star-cursed.” Teldryn sat up but didn’t take his eyes off of me. Glancing at the hairpin, I pulled some of my hair upward haphazardly and thrust it in so carelessly it grazed my scalp. “But that is what the mortals call me. Do you know what the _dragons_ call me?”

            Her eyes widened and the stick dropped from her hand. I was sure she hadn’t noticed. “ _What?_ ” The whisper was desperate, relentlessly curious. Even without knowing this girl, I knew her. When adults met me, there was a sense of quiet awe mixed with respect—that was until I opened my mouth. Children though…

Every bedtime story they had been told, all the promises of heroics and hope hung on that moment they saw me. I never wanted to hurt children but this world was dangerous. They needed to know that I wasn’t perfect. That nothing was. Just because I was the Hero didn’t mean I was a hero.

            Leaning down close to her ear so that Teldryn couldn’t hear, my voice hushed and low, I murmured, “ _Thuri_.”

            Her only response was a puzzled look. “Thurry? Fury?”

            But Teldryn blanched. “Aeta, game’s over.” Lifting himself up, he grabbed his cane. “Rook? We need to talk.”

            “About?”

            Aeta just stared at him as he grabbed me roughly by the arm and sighed angrily as we awkwardly moved away, the force of his arm being hindered by his slight limp. “Is it a hobby of yours to scare children?”

            We were out of her earshot but he kept his voice low. Absentmindedly, I slid a hairpin in and out of some strands that were coming loose with each tug. “You _are_ stupid, aren’t you?”

            “Pardon me?” His head reared back and his nose became crinkled.

            “You think that was meant to scare her? I was simply telling her the truth.” I stopped messing with my hair and chewed on the inside of my cheek. “Would you prefer falsehoods? You should laugh at the irony.”

            His expression went from indignant to confused but I didn’t give him a chance say anything. I waved him off, “You wouldn’t be the first but let me warn you: I don’t appreciate that.” My finger pointed toward Aeta who was still standing and looking at us, bewildered. “Pretending that you’re still as stupid as you were before, that the Dragonborn is some hero who saves everyone.” Unexpectedly my voice hitched a little and it waivered as I confessed, “Of all people, I thought you would know better.”

            I wasn’t able to read his face but was shocked to hear him say, not ask, “You have a child.”

            “ _What?_ ” Pulling out another hairpin, I didn’t replace it. Some of my hair fell and framed a portion of my jaw. I spit out, “Why would you ask such a thing?”

            “Just the way you were talking and…” he rubbed at his temples in slow circles. There was a moment of silence before he continued. “What did you tell her?” Teldryn jerked his head toward Aeta.         

            And a strange, unfamiliar feeling rose up in my chest. It had been so long since I had felt genuine concern for anyone that it almost didn’t feel real. “I would rather I didn’t tell you. You said you were having nightmares about me.”

            He took my hand. “Then I would rather not know what name it is the dragons call you.” When a soft smile replaced his sullen expression, I relaxed. “It’s probably something silly or boring anyway, right? Oh! Hagraven. They _have_ to call you _that._ ”

            “ _Valdrekmiil_?” spilled out of my mouth without my knowing it. “Huh.” My finger twisted at the loose strand that was grazing my cheek. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

            Teldryn seemed as gald as I was to divert the conversation. “Used to what?” His cocky smile amused me.

            I grinned back at him. “The thing that gives you nightmares: dragon tongue.”

            “You shout all the time.”

            “That’s different.” I waved him off, shook my head. “Those words I learned from somewhere that I can remember. But some words just come to me—it’s like they’re hanging low on a fruit tree and it isn’t until I bump into it that I realize that I can pluck it from the branch.”

            “I still don’t understand.”

            A chortle escaped me as I worked to fix my hair. “What’s to understand? I’m Dragonborn.”

            He ran a hand through his now too-long mohawk and shifted his weight comfortably. “I _get_ it, you kill dragons.”

            I stopped what I was doing. Against my own knowledge, my face contorted in confusion and realization, my mouth slightly agape and my brow furrowed. The Dragonborn’s name was known throughout Skyrim but even in Windhelm, the jewel in old Talos’ crown, it was misunderstood. Sometimes though, I forgot that others never met the Greybeards and asked the questions that I did. Received the answers that I did.

            Slowly, I asked, “How _exactly_ do you think I kill dragons, Teldryn?”

            The way he answered me told me that even he realized that he didn’t know the answer. “With your sword?”

            My mouth opened up but before words found their way out I heard excited shouting behind us. Teldryn was still staring at me like he didn’t know me. Which, to be fair, he didn’t. Turning my head, I groaned. The shouting was caused by Bujold and one of her men arriving in the village, laughing and carrying on like there was some festival to be had. Underneath her arm was a large package. A smile found its way to my face and I nearly skipped to meet her.

            “Dragonborn!”

            “Bujold, I pray to every god on this plane that is what I think it is.” I tried to contain the excitement in my voice but it was betraying me.

            “Well…” she looked a little cautious and nodded at her companion who I noticed held a thin stack of missives. “I would give those to her first.”

            Cocking an eyebrow, I snatched the letters from him and frowned at the first in the stack. The thick seal of dark blue wax bore the symbol of a roaring bear on it. _Ulfric_ , I thought unhappily. Not wanting to be bothered with his usual complaints, I shoved it away in my pouch and looked at the next. There was no possible way that I could have been more dissatisfied. The shiny black wax seal bore one of the many shadowmarks, one that I was never pleased to see: a circle encompassing a square. _Empty_.

            I tore at the letter and ripped it open unceremoniously, making the edges jagged. Somewhat luckily for me, there were only two words written on the page.

            “‘Sorry, lass,’” I read aloud.

            Bujold laid a hand on my shoulder in sympathy and I swiped her away. Teldryn unwittingly joked, “So, you liked to be called lass?”

            Me anger prevented me from shooting him a dirty look. Instead, my white-hot rage seethed slowly. My hand crumpled the letter so quickly it was unsatisfactory. “ _Lass? ‘_ Sorry, _lass_?’”

            “Alright,” Teldryn withdrew quickly. “Obviously, lass isn’t a good choice of words.”

            Bujold, who was facing me, could see me fully and took a step back. “I had a feeling that things were wrong when that blacksmith told us to wait.”

            And I just ignored her. “ _‘Lass?’”_ My hand burst into flames and I felt the ashes crumble through my tightly clenched fist.

            “Rook.” Teldryn sounded more than worried.

            And I shouted into the air but without the use of a dragon’s words—it was a regular mortal scream of anger. I hurled the flames in my hands down by my feet and the snow melted instantaneously. Bujold and her companion didn’t move. The Skaal who lingered outside of our conversation now turned quickly away to act as if they hadn’t heard me.

            “I’m going to _kill_ him!” Hitting my hand against my thigh to brush the rest of the ashes away, I yelled at the only person who I knew would receive me without trouble: Teldryn. Turning to him, my finger jabbed into his chest and I continued my tirade. “Who in _Oblivion_ does that no-good, smarmy bastard _think he is_?”

            Teldryn raised an eyebrow and caught my hand. “Well, I don’t know who _he_ is but I know that I’d break your finger if thought it’d do any good.”

            One final snort of anger escaped me before I yanked my hand away. “Gods damned elf.”

            He just rolled his eyes. “Yes. That just _wounds_ me.”

            Looking back at Bujold, my eyes darted to the package underneath her arms. “Blacksmith?” Her words finally reached me. “What’s that?”

             She handed it to me and explained, “When the _Northern Maiden’s_ captain handed me only those two letters that blacksmith noticed.”        

            “Glover.”

            Shrugging she continued, “Yes. He took one look at that one letter and told us to wait a day or so.” I looked down at the package and she added cautiously, “He stayed awake for many long hours to make this. When he handed it to me, he said, ‘That woman will be the death of my forge.’”

            Hurriedly, I tore through the wrapping and extracted the contents. My mouth visibly dropped in shock at the beauty of his creation.

            “I am going to marry Glover and bed him senseless,” I whispered. Teldryn’s hands fell on my shoulders and he leaned down close to my ear so that I only I could hear him.

            “Are you also going to get on your knees and use _your mouth_ on him?” I could just see the wicked smile curling across his lips. “Because I have some fond memories of _that_.”

            My hands were too busy running over the thick fabric of the stunning piece of armor to be ruffled by his teasing. “Oh, I might do more than that,” I answered, entranced by Glover’s work.  “I’m thinking about letting him tie me down and have his way with me.”

            And the look he gave me was anything but innocent. “I would give _anything_ to know what I must do for you to make me _that_ offer.”

            I glanced over my shoulder. “Teldryn, anyone ever tell you that you’re an absolute scoundrel?” I was becoming acutely aware of the audience around us. For just a moment I was beginning to tire of his games. One second he was chastising me for wanting to tell a child the truth and the next he seemed ready to undress me and take me with spectators in tow.

            “Maybe once. So what has your future husband made you then?” his voice was good-natured but I could tell there was still a hint of jealousy tucked in between the words.

            My eyes and hands couldn’t stop fondling the fine work. “Something exquisite.” Not wanting to wait another moment, I undid the ties and laces keeping one of Frea’s jackets in place and shrugged it off into the snow. When I kicked off the boots and stripped the pants off, Bujold laughed and nudged her friend.

            “I told you she wouldn’t be able to wait. If I had received something quite so fine I’d strip down too.”

            Although I was only down to my roughspin clothes, I realized that Glover had underclothing specially made for the armor. Without a second thought I threw the shirt over my head and slipped the pants off. Acutely aware of the cold and my exposed body I fumbled with the bundle trying to make sense of it. Bujold’s companion whistled low and she hit him squarely in the chest.

            “By Hrothmund, Halbarn, you’re a blacksmith. Have a little respect for quality work when you see it.”

            Teldryn cleared his throat.

            “Don’t expect any apologies from me,” the man named Halbarn asserted, crossing his arms. “I know fine…” I saw his eyes move from the pale, puckered flesh across my chest to my hips. “… _armor_ when I see it,” he chose his words carefully.

            As I found the dark, form-fitting pants and reached down to tug them on, I looked up and grinned at him. “Armor, eh?”

            He gave me a flirtatious wink and kept our easy banter going, “Well, that ebony does seem to suit you.”

            Pulling on the rest of the underclothing I laughed, “You have no idea.” He wasn’t bad looking. I imagined that the stripes painted on his face would smear if he had me under him. Just a typical looking Nord. Tall, blocky and muscular, Halbarn stood more than a head taller than Bujold.

            When I clasped and buckled the dark cuirass and plating around my waist and arms and legs, I noticed that the protective gear wasn’t quite ebony. “What on Nirn did he use?” I wondered aloud.

            Halbarn flashed me another brilliant smile. “Well, it’s fairly obvious to someone as finely trained as I.” Bujold rolled her eyes and cocked her hip to one side, one hand resting against the jutting joint.

            “By the gods, Halbarn.”

            And behind me, I heard Teldryn echo the sentiment, “I agree: by the gods, _Halbarn_.”

            A smile creeped along my face and I winked back at Halbarn. “Is that so?” I asked innocently. Taking a step toward him, my hand touched his cold chest plate and traced downwards. “Please, _do_ tell.”

            And oh, I thought I could hear Teldryn _seethe_ —this was really too much fun. It was nice not being on the recieivng end of the teasing for once.

            Halbarn seemed to catch on as well, his eyes darting behind me quickly before settling back on my face. “Of course,” his voice was full of jest but I doubt Teldryn caught on that we were just having fun at his expense now. “Fine ebony melded with the strength of bone.” His hand caught my jaw and he brought his lips close to mine and whispered low, “Think your friend’s had enough?” Another wink followed the question.

            Teldryn answered it for him. “ _Yes_ , Glover does _spectacular_ work. _Amazing._ ” The sarcasm that drawled out was thick and annoyed. Taking one long stride to meet me, his arm slid around my waist and he made a noise of displeasure. “Good work ascertaining that. _Nord_.” He spit the last word out like it was poison.

            Even Bujold joined in the laughter that rang out between me and him. “Good gods, elf, your ears are almost _red_.”    

            And when I looked to confirm her claim, Teldryn quickly threw the hood of his coat over his face and crinkled his nose at me.

            “Oh, Teldryn,” I cooed patronizingly. “That’s precious.” Before another giggle escaped me, my hand flew to my mouth.

            “Oh, put on the rest of your clothes,” he sneered. I heard him curse under his breath in Dunmeris.

            Catching my breath, I looked back at Halbarn, seriously this time. “So this really is something he made on the spot?” I knocked on the plate of the armor. It reminded me a great deal of the Nightingale set I had but the cuirass’s edge didn’t hit as low as the other set did. It ended just below my waist while the leather straps in front laced like a corset, just not as tightly. The thick dark boots fell just below my knees. The hood and cape were attached in such a way that I had to run part of the fabric through a strap on the shoulder. The plating was light but durable and clung to all of my vulnerable body parts.

            “Glover, is this your idea of a challenge?” I pulled another strap off the ground that was attached to a sheath before realizing it was meant for my leg. I buckled it around my thigh and swiftly extracted my Blade of Woe from my pouch still attached to my other belt.

            As I slid it into the sheath, Halbarn added, “And your sword’s sheath is on the back there.”

            “What?” My hand flew to my back where I felt another, larger sheath. “By Namira, Glover, who hangs a sword on their _back_?”

            “ _Lots_ of people,” Teldryn scoffed.

            “Shush.” I slid the sword Baldor had given me and then extracted my bow and quiver from my pouch as well. With a little adjustment, it all settled well. I would just need time to get used to grabbing this or that. Really, the lack of weight hitting against my thigh constantly was a welcome relief.

            “Thanks,” I offered Bujold and Halbarn without looking at them, still tightening leather laces here and there and pulling at the cape and hood. When I threw it over my head and pulled the face covering over my nose, I felt an immediate wave of comfort wash over me. I hadn’t realized how uncomfortable walking around exposed had made me but now I appreciated the reprieve. “And, you and I,” my finger pointed from myself to Bujold, “We’ll keep that one thing between ourselves.”

            She only nodded and slapped me on an exposed shoulder. “May Hrothmund be with you, Dragonborn. Your blade strike flesh and your arrows find their marks in the eyes of your enemies.”

* * *

 

            “So, really,” I took a bite out of an apple and crunched loudly. “You’re just looking for protection.” Reclined against a chair in the Greathall, my feet were thrown up on the table crossed at the ankles. “Shounds eashy enuff.” I swallowed. “How much are you paying?” Even if I would be meeting my end soon, no need to start charity work.

            Tharstan was an older Nord but he still had all the excitement of a young man. “One thousand gold. I’m no adventurer, just a historian but I _need_ to know where those new passages lead to. All that is needed is protection.”

            The Greathall wasn’t usually cramped but with the four of us gathered tightly around the fire, it felt stuffy. “So will you escort him?” Frea asked while sewing a patch onto a piece of clothing.

            “Ha!” I jerked my thumb at Tharstan. “No offense, but you can go off and fornicate with yourself for all I care. Vigorously.” Both he and Frea’s mouth dropped but Teldryn almost spit out the wine he had taken a large glup of. “I want to know more about Miraak.”

            “Miraak?” Tharstan’s sensitivity was replaced by confusion. “What on Nirn does _he_ have to do with this?”

            “Oh, gods save me,” I groaned. This historian spent so much time in books he didn’t have a single original thought in his head. “Doesn’t this sound just a little _too_ familiar? A guardian and a traitor? Miraak taking over the island?”

            Another blank look.

            I threw my hands up. “Am I the _only_ competent person in Mundus?”

            “To be fair,” Teldryn decided to chime in. “I’m _glad_ to be traveling with someone so competent.”

            “See? The Mer knows I’m right.” When Teldryn shot me a disapproving look I shrugged. I was feeling better than I had in months with Glover’s new armor on. There was the possibility that I was feeling too cocky for my own good. “ _Teldryn_ knows I’m right,” I corrected myself.

            Tharstan’s hands flew out beside him and he smiled. “Whatever your reasons, I’d be honored to have you accompany me. In fact,” he jumped up and continued to talk as he ran off, “I’m going to get packed right now. Just meet me as soon as you can by the tomb!” His excited voice trailed off.

            “Well,” I stood up and took the last bite of my apple while throwing the core into the fire. “Looks like that’s settled.” Glancing at Frea I tried my best to whip up an enthusiastic smile, “I thank you for all your help and hospitality but I’m off to the tomb.” Waving my hand behind me I added, “You know, stopping Miraak and all. Boring business and whatnot.”

            Tharstan was still mumbling about something in another room while Frea and Teldryn both jumped up and began to argue with me.

            “You’re still not well,” Frea said at the same time Teldryn countered, “Like Oblivion you are.”

            My feet stopped in their tracks. Rubbing my thumbs against the flat of my palms, I focused my attention on the new armor and its stunning beauty, lightweight and dark. The tips of my fingers were exposed and I examined a fingernail while choosing my words carefully. The thoughts had been running through my head since I had woken up in this gods forsaken village. My plan was always to be off and finish this mess once I got a new set of armor. Now I had it. I didn’t want to keep dragging this out and slowly losing my mind.

            But then I looked at Teldryn and couldn’t help thinking about all we had been through. Even without looking back at him I could tell he was scowling at me, those red eyes glaring at me and his brow furrowed in disapproval. If the circumstances were different, I could almost see us having… _something_. I wasn’t sure what but the words I was going to speak were going to make sure that the possibility would no longer exist. It would be better that way: he didn’t know me, understand me. Teldryn refused to even see how much of a monster I was now. He walked with a cane because of me.

            And Frea… well. Turning to face them, her face was filled with worry. I had participated in the death of her gods damned father and she was still kind to me. All because she believed the turn of events to be the will of whatever god she prayed to. When I recalled our first real conversation together, it hurt to think that maybe we could have been friends in another lifetime. How either of them had managed to stay alive with me around amazed me to no end.

            Well, if there was one thing I did wonderfully well, it was burning bridges to the ground and to a crisp.

            I did my best to give them both a friendly smile. “Both of you can take this gods damned, pathetic piece of rock and shove it in your arses.” Frea’s mouth opened but I filled in the silence. “You think I need either of you? Allow me to clarify: _I’m the gods damned Dragonborn_. A dragon in all aspects except form.” My finger prodded my own chest so hard it hurt. “I _devour_ the _souls_ of dragons with _my own_. I _end_ the lives of _immortal_ beings. You think I need some religious milkdrinker and a half-arsed mercenary?”

            I couldn’t look at either of them straight in the eyes but I could feel tears welling up in my own.

            “You,” I pointed to Frea, “And you,” then to Teldryn, “Can stay here and _rot_.” Another step toward the door and I yanked it open. “I’ve got a Dragonborn to kill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What to say here? Things are coming to a close for this story and, possibly, Rook's life. She's not doing well. She's not wanting to drag anyone else down with her, slipping back into old habits. Quite the contrary to how it might seem here, Rook doesn't hate children so her reaction here might seem confusing. Well, it might be confusing if Teldryn was concerned about the fact that he and Rook were physically intimate without concern to her being with child. Seems like something that would have come up, huh? Maybe we'll figure it out in Relentless. Well, this whole chapter is just sort of sad.
> 
> Special thanks to all of the lovely guests who've left kudos. A super debt of gratitude to SuFin20 for their continued support and hard word looking over the chapters to see if I've made any mistakes.
> 
> Next chapter? Rook and Tharstan spend some time with one another. He doesn't like it. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	39. The Venerated Priest of the Skaal

_Don’t look back. Just keep moving forward._

            Tharstan was still in the Greathall but I had him mark my map earlier. It wasn’t far and he could meet me at the tomb. The bitter cold whipped at my raw cheeks that were beginning to be streaked with tears so I yanked the hood and mask over my head and face. I focused on my heavy steps that fell into the snow, leaving fresh prints in my wake.

            A few feet behind me, I heard the Greathall door fling open with such force that it slammed against the outside of the building.

            “Rook!” Teldryn’s sounded a little more than angry.

            _Keep walking. We don’t look back_. My fists balled as if my body was demonstrating solidarity with my mind. I quickened my steps.

            “ _N’wah, fetcher_! I’m talking to you!” He was getting desperate. I half-expected him to run after me but even he wasn’t so daft as to try that. I could slow time, run like a whirlwind. If I didn’t want to be caught, then I wouldn’t. Maybe a better Dragonborn—a better _person_ —would have turned and tried to explain what was going on. It wouldn’t be anything to sit down and simply say that I didn’t want anyone with me when my time reached its short end.

            But I was never the better _anything_. So I kept stomping through the ice and snow, my boots becoming encrusted with the slush. I tried blocking out Teldryn’s shouting, not that it was hard to with all the Dunmeris he was rattling off. There was a _b’vek_ here and there but the rest I couldn’t make out.

            I needed something to take my mind away from this mess, something to assure that I wouldn’t be followed or harassed. Teldryn could easily take on one of my atronachs. Unfortunately for him, I was aligned with some pretty malevelont forces. I didn’t even have to think about snapping my fingers and summoning a void.

            Addressing the spectral form beside me, I continued to walk. “No killing. You just come along now.”

            Lucien’s voice sounded disappointed. “My Listener.”

            A side glance at him told me that nothing would please him more than to slit Teldryn’s throat but he dutifully walked behind me. Inhaling deeply, I resigned myself to move onward toward Vahlok’s tomb.

            Teldryn took one last jab at me. “ _Fine!_ Oblivion take you!” There was some mirthless laughter followed by, “Oh, _that’s_ right. That’s going to happen _anyway_ , you heartless, uncaring—”

            Lucien unsheathed a ghostly dagger. “My blade is yours,” he offered, interrupting my attention on Teldryn’s yelling.

            Sometimes having a dead assassin was a temptation that I wasn’t sure I should have ever been given the opportunity to have. “We have more important things to kill,” I tried to dissuade him as well as myself. “Would you rather kill a Mer and a village full of passive Men who won’t put up a fight or go after a servant of a Daedric Prince?” The village was now so far behind me now that it was becoming a distant memory. A few more minutes of silence passed between Lucien and I before deciding to make a poor decision. “And Sithis has nothing to say about this whole thing? You and he have been awfully quiet on the subject since I’ve summoned you here. Seems like he might care if the Hand’s thumb was cut off.”

            To ask Lucien anything directly about Sithis was usually fruitless. That was like going to the Twilight Sepulcher and demand that Nocturnal grant me an audience. Not that I wasn’t one for not trying any of those things. Of course he said nothing.

            I pushed a tree branch out of my way and some snow fell, dusting my shoulder. As I carelessly brushed the cold chunks off, I dug out my map with the hope that we were already heading in the right direction. Just as my finger was tracing from the village to the tomb, the crack of a twig being stepped on caused both Lucien and I to snap our heads up.

            Tharstan threw his hands up. “Don’t worry, Dragon—” He looked over to Lucien, “Sorry. You ran off in a hurry. I had no idea you were so interested in reaching the tomb so quickly.”

            Folding the map back and thrusting it back from where it came, I eyed him. “I don’t actually have whole lot of time to sit around for pleasantries.”

                        “Oh, no no,” the Nord shook his head and fell in step with Lucien and I as we stomped through the woods. “I… uh…” his hand waved to motion to the village. “I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever that was. Certainly not.”    

            “Good.” I ducked underneath another low lying branch. “Smart man.”

            He hmmed in a somewhat resolute manner before lapsing into the same silence that Lucien was giving me. I sighed. Any hope of him answering me was now extinguished. With an audience, his words were sealed off.

            Honestly, it felt good to be left alone with my thoughts for a minute or two. Traveling with Teldryn had been tolerable until I made the mistake of thinking we could be close; however, with him gone, no one would be constantly at me, asking me what I was thinking. Being left to my own devices was a better plan anyway. No one could hold me back.

            Then, as if disagreeing with myself, I heard another thought whisper back, _Are you certain?_

            “Gods damn, _yes_. I don’t need an elf to send me off to my death,” I groaned aloud, much to Tharstan’s surprise.

            He stole glances at me as he walked before asking, “You don’t think the tomb will be that dangerous, do you? I thought that someone with your power would have no problem protecting me.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck.

            “What?” Shaking my head, I assured, “It’s nothing. I’m sure the tomb is your run-of-the-mill Nord ruin complete with the usual annoyances. No worries here.”

            As I stepped over a rock, Tharstan took another look at Lucien and I thought I could hear concern in his voice, “What’s this?”

            Sighing, I brought a hand to my forehead and rubbed hard. “Listen, you want my help or not? Because I can just as easily let you traverse this thing by yourself. I’ll be fine.”

            He wrung his hands again before spurting out, “Maybe this was a mistake. I thought since you saved Bardor that you had changed but…”

            As if Lucien could sense my discomfort, he stopped and turned back to look at Tharstan. The old man was visibly worried now. My feet moved so close to him that I could feel his breath through the cloth covering my face. Although he was a few inches taller than I, it scared him. “What do you mean _changed?_ ” Suddenly, I was getting the feeling I had agreed to something I was going to regret.

            He cleared his throat and wrung his hands. “Oh, gods you haven’t.”

            I could have snarled but instead simply glared.

            “I… l-lived in Solitude prior to traveling here for my research,” Tharstan’s words were clumsily stumbling out of his mouth.

            “So?” I snapped. “I have a house there but it doesn’t mean anything.”

            “I’ve only been here for about a year.” I watched as his breathing became uneven and it took me a moment to realize his meaning.

            “Oh,” I whispered as I took a step back. “ _That_.”

            Lucien mumbled something but I couldn’t hear him. Tharstan simply asked, “You aren’t going to kill me are you?”

            Shaking my head, I only gave him, “No.”

            My walking resumed and he followed behind me. At the mention of the word “kill,” Lucien was standing close by, dagger in hand. The sounds of the wilds filled in the spaces—the birds were singing as loudly as they possibly could while some brief wind beckoned more cold air on my face. My gut had sunk far below the pit of my abdomen, the knowledge that Tharstan had some firsthand experience with my actions in the war creating a knot of anxiety in my mind. There was no way I could have anticipated this.

            Instead I tried to soften the blow. “Whatever you remember,” I interrupted the song that traveled into the impossibly blue sky. “I did it all to defeat Alduin.”

            He didn’t make a noise at first, only nodded. It was less in agreement than pacification. Eventually, I heard, “I heard tell many things about the war. While I was living in the west, I mean.” Some animal made a noise which gave Lucien cause to investigate. Tharstan continued, “But it wasn’t until the Stormcloaks made it to Solitude…”

            My hand raised but I kept walking. “I’m aware of what happened. I was there.”

            “At the front.”

            “At the front,” I agreed, the memory vividly hitting me. It was best forgotten but, here we were, digging up things I had buried deep. “But I didn’t do everything you might be lead to believe,” I said over my shoulder.

            And we pressed forward, the cold of winter beneath our feet and at our backs.  

* * *

            “Well.” Tharstan mused.

            Gods damned historian.

            He had been wandering around, examining every damned thing as he took one step here and then one step there. We were never going to get down the steps.

            “Remarkable, isn’t it?” his voice echoed around me through the empty tomb.

            “Yes, yes.” Not wanting Lucien to have all the fun, I forged ahead. The acrid smell of smoke filled my nostrils and my hand waved in front of my face. “Ugh. By Namira’s stench, that is foul.”

            Ignoring the pedestal overlooking a gated firepit, my eyes had to adjust to the bright light nestled in the dark of the large room. Several draugr littered the floor around the fire, prone and quite dead. Glancing out at the room, I noticed that we were high above any flooring.

            “I’ve had a look around and this inscription is by far the most interesting thing here,” I heard Tharstan call above me. Lucien was wandering around, restless to attack something. Tharstan didn’t say anything more, caught up in reading.

            “And…?” Crossing my arms, I tapped a foot.

            “Hmm?” He looked up at me. “Oh, yes. Right, well I don’t know if you can read Dragon—” he interrupted himself once he realized what he was saying. “Anyway, it’s a riddle of some sort. ‘A sacrifice will bring you closer to what you seek.’ I wonder what it means…”

            Cocking an eyebrow, I was more curious how _he_ knew Dragon language. “And you just happen to be fluent in _Dov_ tongue?”

            Tharstan didn’t give me an immediate answer. This little expedition was feeling more and more like a mistake every time that man opened his mouth. I almost called Lucien over when he finally admitted, “I didn’t just come here because of the Skaal. It’s all of Solstheim that I’m fascinated with.” Glancing up from the tablet, he took some careful steps toward me, down the stairs and beside the gated pit. “After… after the battle in Solitude,” he wrung his hands again. “I was… curious. About what you did.”

            Shouting—that’s what he meant. “And?”

            More silence. “So my research led me to the Greybeards for a little while. Not long mind you. They were very touchy.”

            So it wasn’t anything interesting. Even better, not dangerous. Stepping away from him, I continued to scan over the stagnant water that we were high above. “They aren’t an especially warm group of people. I’m surprised you managed to weasel in there to be quite honest.”

            He looked down into the fire and wiped his brow; beads of sweat were forming in the wrinkles of his skin. The smoke from the fires became wispy little snakes slithered through the aged iron bars and disappated into the musty tomb air. “As I said, they didn’t welcome me for long. What I know is very little; the basics were easy enough but most of it is just guesswork on my part.”

            My eyes rolled. “Then _how_ can you be sure you’re getting it right?” Pushing past him, my feet met with the uneven stairway and my ankle slightly rolled. When I stood over the pedestal and ran my fingers across the words, I found myself pleasantly shocked. “Actually, you were close. ‘A sacrifice of the dead will bring you closer to the _doom_ you seek.’” My eyes darted to him for a moment to see his face pale. Shrugging, I patronized him, “At least you were _really_ close.”

            “S-so, what do we need to do then?”

            I pointed over at the bodies that were sprawling out beside him and motioned to the pit. “A sacrifice of the _dead_. What do _you_ think that means?”

            His hands landed on his hips. “I’m paying so I think it means that _you_ need to drag these bodies—” his voice quivered.

            “My, my. You’ve gotten bold.” I jumped down to where he was, bypassing the steps completely. “Thought you were afraid of me.” My hands grasped the first draugr and I dragged it over onto the gate.

            “I’m more afraid of…” he nodded at the dead. “…those things. You’re at least alive.”

            Dry tissue scraped against the stone as I moved the second body over. “I promise, I’m more dangerous than a draugr will ever be. Now, be a good scholar and pull that lever up there. You know, don’t do any of the dirty work but it’ll look like you contributed.”

            Tharstan reached the lever with no question. Like all Nord tombs, the lever creaked with age and the gate groaned loudly. The bodies fell neatly into the pit and a fresh plume of dark smoke swirled around me. Coughing, I brought my hands to my nose and pinched it to keep out the smell. Lucien was already running off to gods only knew where.

            “ _Goooods_ , that is rank.” My voice sounded more nasal than its usual tone.

            “Did you hear that?” Tharstan asked as he met me.

            Turning, I watched Lucien’s form race up several steps, no sound following his path. He disappeared from somewhere high above us. “A door?”

            “Two. I’ll let you lead the way since you seem to know what you’re doing.” His hand offered the chance to trailblaze.

            I followed Lucien. “You’ve never been in a Nord ruin before? Aren’t you the thorough historian?”

            The cloth of his fine clothes made a swishing sound behind me, the fine silks and furs and embroidery rubbed against one another.  “Too dangerous for an old man like me. Is it safe to follow that… specter?”

            “Tharstan, if you keep asking me questions about Lucien, you won’t be safe following _me_ ,” I answered over my shoulder. Another silent step and I blessed Glover for being such a fine blacksmith. That thought only prompted my mind to wander back to Teldryn. Gods. It would have been easier to leave him behind if he hadn’t been so… persistant. If I had watched what had transpired between us as an outsider, my neck would have been whiplashed. Little wonder though. My emotions had been all over the place since I killed the dragon. Confusion, guilt. Frustration, anger. And then Teldryn had to flirt with me, get jealous over my haphazard comments about Glover. And, of course, that just made me want to leave him behind more. I had warned myself over and over again not to get attached. This was the price I paid.

            “It looks like another riddle.” Tharstan’s voice didn’t echo as loudly this time as it broke through my thoughts.

            “What?” The room looked strange—a square with smaller square-tiles were in-laid while several barred doorways blocked our path. Once Tharstan’s echo cleared, I realized that I could hear something else: Nordic chanting. “A word wall,” I murmured. “Let’s solve this thing quickly.”

            I allowed him to read the tablet and make some comment about how he wasn’t touching them but once I ran across them, he looked visibly annoyed. “I could have done that.”

            “Tharstan, you’re going to have to take some chances down here. No use getting frightened by every stone block and draugr in the place.” Jogging past him, I met Lucien on the otherside. A word wall lay right ahead of me. “Oh, blessed be.”

            Just when I thought that it could be the last word of the shout I’d been looking for, a familiar din arose behind me. The crash of sarcophagi lids onto the floor alerted Lucien and he ran to the nearest draugr, slicing its throat easily.

            As Tharstan dashed back from where we came I thought I could hear him say, “Time to earn your pay!”

            Ingrate. This whole temporary mercenary thing was starting to get on my nerves. How Teldryn could do it for a living was beyond me. “Lucien! That one!” I pointed and then reached behind to pull out my sword. My hand missed the hilt the first time—just as I made another attempt, an ax came swinging at me. The rush of air that followed it glanced my cheek as I deftly stepped back.

            My hand didn’t miss a second time.

            I took a heavy step forward and swung. Baldor had not over-sold the ability of Stalhrim. As soon as the blade made contact with the withered rib cage, the emaciated drauger fell into a loose pile at my feet. It wasn’t until I heard the unmistakable sound of a shout that I realized Lucien was over his head.

            “I… am… eternal…” his last words faintly traveled.

An impossibly huge draugr stomped in the pile of sparkling, blue remains. It reared back.

“Well, this has gone to shit quickly,” I observed to no one in particular.

“ _FUS… RO DAH_!”

The force swept me off my feet but I wasn’t too far from the nearest wall that I was pummeled into. I felt something crack and I cursed—a wash of pain bloomed as I rolled a shoulder. Not even bothering to make sure Tharstan wasn’t in range, I brought a hand up and curled my fist. When I released the spell at the monster, an impressive spray of fire blazed a trail from me to it. This was one of those times that I wished I still carried spare oil because I was _pissed_.

It ran here and there wildly, its ragged clothes now burning at a rapid pace. The draugr’s steps were so heavy that the pile of dust that used to be Lucien was disturbed with each pace.

“I’m not finished with you yet, bastard,” I growled. It felt like a knife was in my back. “You’ll pay me back tenfold.” Not even bothering to sheath my sword, my right hand reached for the dagger at my thigh and I sprinted towards the undead, jumping onto a sarcophagus and launching myself so that the blade of woe buried itself into its eyesocket. As it howled, I swung my sword upwards and caught the curve of its hip bone. When I twisted out, the skeleton lost its form. Exhaling, I watched the blood red glow of its lifeforce settle onto what exposed skin I had.

            Kicking its remains, I called out to Tharstan. “All clear!”

            Without waiting for him to reappear, I returned to the word wall. The world was finally able to blur around me but I felt a twinge of disappointment. “ _Mid_?” My tongue slid across the back of my teeth as I closed my eyes. I heard Tharstan approach but something felt off. When I opened my eyes and spied the remains of Lucien, the meaning hit me. “Loyal. How in Oblivion does _that_ help me?”

            “Oh, my, oh, my. Let’s have a look at these runes.” Tharstan was already pawing at the wall, running his hands this way and that. His voice was hushed and transfixed. “More of the Dragon language.”

            This time, rolling my eyes wouldn’t be enough. “Really, Tharstan? I’m the _Dragonborn_. I’ve seen a couple of these. No need to impress me with your learned ways and such.” My fingers wiggled as I mocked him.

            “Then _you_ read it.” If he was afraid of me before, his exasperated tone didn’t show it. Academic types were all the same—once in their element they were as stubborn as a Nord.

            One quick glance at the wall gave cause for excitement though. “Vahlok. It’s talking about Vahlok.” This time I gave it more consideration. “ _For his eternal loyalty, he joined the dead ones with great honor_.”

            That _was_ somewhat troubling. From what I was beginning to understand, the dragon priests weren’t exactly the dying type. At least not in the conventional sense.

            “The guardian who inspired both men and dragons,” Tharstan added. “It looks like a door opened up beside the wall. Shall we continue?”

            I took one last wistful look at Lucien’s remains and said, “We need to loot the bodies. Or at least the chest. With all the traps and riddles so far, there’s probably a gated lock at some point and we’ll need a claw key to get through it. I’d rather check for that now than run back around this place trying to find it.”

            Gods, those were some bad memories.

            “I’ll just look in here.” He was already pulling the lid off the chest as I began digging through the molded fabric of dingy pouches. As I did so, my hand instinctively threw a healing spell over myself. The space between my shoulder blades still smarted but it was tolerable.

            “Ah, ha!” Out of the giant draugr’s remains I pulled out a claw made of amethyst. “What in the name of Akatosh?” Holding it up to one of the lit torches in the tomb, I examined the gem. “It’s broken.”

            I held onto it anyway. Even if I didn’t have all of it, there had to be a way for me to use it. Tharstan and I stooped through the secret entrance in a sarcophagus and into a narrow tunnel. Listening to him grumble every now and then gave me a little bit of satisfaction. I wasn’t really fond of him—scholars were all alike. They’d keep their noses in books and then look down at everyone else but ask them to do a little dirty work and they were nowhere to be found.

            Pulling a chain to reveal the exit, I noticed we were back where we began. “Of course,” I mumbled as Tharstan clapped his hands.

“Oh good. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do too much running,” the man announced.

            Teldryn could have been right beside me, that’s how clear his deep voice was etched into my mind as I imagined him saying, “Is he going to clap when you fell more draugr? Things couldn’t get any more ridiculous with this man.” A dull ache settled in my chest.

            I had to stop thinking about him. He wasn’t the first man I bedded although he might be the last. Nothing special.

            We were already in the next set of chambers when I heard Tharstan’s worried voice whisper, “Are there more draugrs?”

            “Well, let’s see…” Spreading my arm wide across the crypt, I did my best to shout as loud as I possibly could, “ _We’re in a crypt and there’s a multitude of dead bodies lying in rest so my guess is_ —”

            As if to answer me, a few disgruntled groans echoed in the chamber.

            “—yes.” Instead of pulling out my sword, I unhitched my bow and withdrew arrow after arrow. Most found their marks as I tried to stay away as far as possible. One bounced off of a pillar and another found a draugr’s shield. This time Tharstan had no where to run so he hid instead.

            When I spied a deathlord rearing back, I didn’t give it the opportunity. “ _FUS… RO DAH_!” My shout threw itself in the direction at a handful and all of the skeletons were lifted off of their feet and shattered onto the nearest hard surface. “Easy enough.” My feet moved forward but Tharstan wasn’t budging. “What?”

            As he slowly slid from behind the pillar, I realized he was remembering Solitude. “T-those were it. I asked the Greybeard about the words that pushed against the world.”

            Again, I heard Teldryn, “ _What_ did you do in Solitude to make him fear you so much?”

            The annoyance was beginning to escalate into full-blown anger. “Tharstan, I’m _not_ going to kill you. If I thought you were worth the effort, you’d already be dead. Now let’s go.”

            It didn’t quite coax him out easily but he eventually followed me to a gate that was opened by a chain. The room didn’t sit well with me. In the center was a glowing pillar surrounded by weapons. The circle that encompassed it had three small pedestals at each point of a quarter of it while a larger one held another tablet.

            “Go ahead,” I offered him. “I know how damned excited you are about those things.” I busied myself by walking around the room and looking at the other pedestals. As he read aloud, I ignored him and went about solving the riddle myself. It was easy enough. Sword followed sword so my new one swung at the stone hard causing a smaller stone to glow brightly, illuminating the room. I notched an arrow and let loose against the pillar that matched where a bow was sitting. I had to grab the staff that sat by the large pillar to activate the last pedestal but once it was all said and done, the gate ahead of us opened.

            Surprisingly, the faint sound of Nordic chanting came from the other room. This wasn’t right. Usually the Nords only built one wall in each of their tombs. Crossing into the huge room though, I didn’t have to wait a minute before draugr were popping out here and there. This was getting boring. Another shout, another swing of the sword and they were fallen.

            “Alright then.” I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my neck around. “Let’s see what this is about then.”

            Again, not the word I was looking for but another reference to Miraak. Tharstan came up beside me cautiously and read, “… _Treacherous Miraak_. It seems you were right.”

            “Of course I’m right. Have you not seen me at these walls? I practically absorb the knowledge of the ancients.”

            “You don’t really… absorb anything. The wall…” he went quiet. “It absorbs you.”

            Waving him off, I looked back at the wall. “So I’ve been told.” My eyes moved from one draugr to another before deciding to loot the deathlord. Lucikly for us, it held the other half of the claw key. My fingers moved to rub my temples without me realizing it. Tharstan was getting on my nerves and I could feel a distinctively familiar headache coming on. “By the Eights, Nines, and Tens. Tharstan?”

            “Y-yes?”

            “If I were you, I’d wait back in the main chamber.” My head cocked to another tunnel. “Go… examine some inscriptions or something.”

            Without question, he ran off. I sighed and indiscriminately dug out a Black Book. The _Sallow Regent_. No. My stomach dropped. Not that one again. I reached for another: _The Hidden Twilight_. Much better. I swallowed and opened the book.

            “Once more. Can’t be much longer until my end.”

* * *

 

            Slamming the book shut, I was brought to my knees.

            My shaking arms wrapped themselves around my stomach as I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t going to throw up. No, no. I was feeling _perfectly_ fine.

            The next time I heard Teldryn’s voice, it wasn’t in my head, “Well, I must say, it’s always fun to watch you come back from Oblivion.”

            Sheer shock induced vomiting into the nearest empty sarcophagus. I held back my hair as more blood and something slimy and black spewed from my mouth. “ _Lovely_ ,” I managed to rasp before throwing up again.

            One of Teldryn’s arms wrapped themselves around my shoulders as he roughly grabbed my hair from me. “Lovely indeed,” he agreed before I retched again. “You know, I can’t really decide what is most charming about you: the way you suggest I should shove an entire island up my arse or the way you constantly vomit. How’s a man to choose?”

            I tried proposing he could go suck his own cock but my throat was too raw for words. As soon as I had the strength, my body tore itself away from him and I sat against the staircase leading up to the word wall. Closing my eyes, I focused my breathing. My hand slid into my pouch and the only thing I could find to drink was a half empty bottle of wine. I had never tasted anything so sweet as the hot, fermented liquid that flowed into my mouth.

            He sat beside me in quiet. I could hardly believe this was happening. There was no disguising the way I stared at his armor, made of stalhrim and lined with thick, white fur. Without a helm covering his face, I couldn’t hide from his eyes. His arms rested on his thighs so that his hands hung loosely.

            “So.” His uncertainty was wrapped tightly in that single word.

            Pulling out my timepiece, I couldn’t even be bothered to be irritated that I had been gone at least eight hours. If not more. Hopefully, Tharstan had been able to keep himself occupied. “I thought I told you to shove off, begone.”

            “Noooo,” his voice bounced off of the walls. “I believe you told me I could rot here. You never said where _here_ was.”

            Groaning, I shifted and a dull pain settled in between my shoulder blades again. This smelled like an old argument boiling to the surface and I wasn’t taking the bait. My foot strained to reach the Black Book left on the floor and when my ankle hooked it, I slid it over to myself. I refused to acknowledge this was even happening and Teldryn was beginning to get the point.

            “Am I that horrible to you?” he finally gathered the courage to ask. When no response was given, he continued, “Because I’m not, in my humble opinion. Really, I’m possibly the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you.”

            “Oh, good.” My hand moved to wipe at my mouth. “I was hoping that when I died I could say, ‘Well, at least a man was the best damn thing that ever happened to me.’ You’re really a piece of work, you arrogant—”

            I watch his grin fall as he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the time to jest.”

            His way of taking things lightly had taken its toll on me lately. Refusing to see me as a monster, playing with Aeta… and this moment here in the tomb. I shook my head at the thoughts. He opened his mouth but closed it again. The way he could casually bypass issues like my killing that dragon the way I did? Simply unacceptable.

            And I’m sure the way I constantly sidestepped _his_ concerns irritated him to no end. “Nice armor,” I mumbled.

            “If I only I had a matching sword,” he mused. His hands clasped and unclasped while he bowed his head.

            “It’s magnificent by the way.”

            “I’m sure. Baldor said he was hoping to sell the both as a set but, well…”

            We were floundering in the middle of this tomb. I had no idea where Tharstan was but I needed to do something. Say anything. So many words sat under the surface of my mind, but try as my tongue might, none of them moved past my mouth. Nothing came to me. Where would I start?

            And Teldryn, oh, Teldryn. He would never cease to amaze me with his patience. “Is it true, what you said?”

            I almost laughed. He was going to have to be more specific. “About?”

            “About being the Dragonborn?”

            _That_. “Of course. Why would I scream it at the top of my lungs if it weren’t?”

            His mouth cocked to one side as his eyebrow raised in question.

            Breathing in, my mind settled in on his query. “What does it mean to be Dragonborn?” I rephrased his question. Nowadays, I wasn’t quite sure if I knew myself.

            He gave me a weak smile.

            “I can’t tell you how many times I myself have asked that.” I took another swig out of the bottle. “I have a dragon’s soul. _That’s_ how I kill dragons—not with a sword. That’s the _only_ way to kill a dragon. You have to absorb their souls.”

            His hand ran through his hair and sighed. “A dragon’s soul,” he echoed. “And dragon’s are immortal.”

            “Yes. You know, until I… uh… devour their souls.” My finger tapped against the now empty bottle. “You came all the way out here to ask me that?”

            And this time, silence on his end.

            I tongued the inside of my cheek—he was still looking down at the floor of the tomb with his fingers templed in contemplation.

            Trying to fill the silence, I grasped, “I’m not immortal though. That’s kind of the…” my finger twirled. “… thing. A mortal with the soul of a dragon…. And blood. Soul and blood. That about covers it. My body is mortal enough. Just… with some benefits.”

             I didn’t like having this conversation which is why I avoided it like charity work.

            “You and Miraak.”

            A lump of discomfort lodged itself in my throat. “The last,” I pointed to myself. “And the first.” My hand waved to nothing in the air.

            Teldryn hadn’t looked at me the entire time I was trying to explain. Instead his foot tapped and he shifted around, but nothing beyond some simple motions. “You said you were dragon in all but form.”

            A burst of laughter escaped from me and it sounded ragged, “It’s just something I say. I mean, I’m not _really_ a dragon. I’m a mortal,” I emphasized.

            It turned out all that silence was just Teldryn’s way of doing some serious, deep thinking. “And that’s why you’re a monster.”

            I grabbed his hand and the look on his face was unfamiliar to me. “I’m no better than Miraak—power and control. Just like the dragons. You get it now.”

            “I think I do.” He studied my fingers intertwined in his. “But let’s make sure I get it straight.”

            I threw the bottle with my free hand toward the word wall behind me and I heard it shatter. “I realized a long time ago that I’m not sure if I’m killing the right things, the right people. In the beginning, it seemed easy enough. The dragons were ravaging the land and…” Time to omit some parts. “…let’s just say it took me a long time to take care of them. By the time I made the decision to do something, I didn’t know anything. Until I met Paarthurnax—my master, a dragon. I didn’t know in the beginning _why_ I was Dragonborn. Now, I’m revered for killing my own kind. A kind that’s being driven to the point of extinction because of me. Why does Akatosh want me killing his children with a gift he gave me?” My hands threw themselves into the air. “And it doesn’t matter who I kill or what I do—it’s always _wrong._ ”

            Teldryn nodded. “Well, not quite what I was thinking but I get your point.”

            And, in my moment of weakness, I kept rattling on, “It irritates me when people blame me for Ulfric’s actions or any of those Nords in Windhelm with the Beasts and Mer—how am I supposed to make everyone happy?” My hand released itself from his and I sat forward, mostly talking to myself. “‘Dragonborn, stop the dragons.’ ‘Dragonborn, help the Beasts and Mer in Windhelm.’ ‘Dragonborn, do this.’ ‘Dragonborn, do that.’ _Gods_.” And then idiocy spilt out of my mouth. “Why don’t the Beasts and Mer just help theirselves? Sometimes I think Niranye’s right—the Dunmer just wallow in their self-pity and…” _Shit_.

            “Yes, well.” He stood up.

            I apparently hadn’t burnt the _right_ bridge with him. Quest completed now.

            “I’ve got to get back to Tharstan.” Still feeling weak, I did my best to stand tall. “You can…um…leave if you’d like.”

            Even though he was walking back to the main chamber, he shook his head. “I should.”

            “Probably,” I agreed.

            “But you still owe me money.” Before I could argue, he added, “Retroactive payment, as it were.”

            And I should have been happier. I had gotten exactly what I wanted: to push him away completely.

            But I wasn’t.

            Waiting for him to leave first, I stared at the word wall and admired the thin streams of red wine running down the etchings like blood. Gods, I was a horrible person. Teldryn went out of his way to help me here and I stupidly insulted him. Worse really. Every abuse he had suffered in Windhelm I had just validated. It wasn’t purposeful—I was just thinking aloud, musing. It wasn’t as if I thought that every Argonian or Khajiit or Mer deserved to be treated that way. It was just that sometimes I could see where the Nords were coming from.

            Akatosh certainly chose a praise-worthy Hero.

            By the time I met the two of them in the main chamber, Teldryn was back to his jovial self. He joked with Tharstan about something as I popped out from the tunnel. The scholar looked just as fresh as when we’d first arrived. I doubt he even realized how long I’d been missing. A bit astounding, to be honest.

            “Tharstan, what do we have?”

            “Well! I’ve been able to collect so much information since you’ve been gone. And see here,” he walked over to the large gated passageway and read, “ _Stay your course. To idle is to die_.”

            Moving past him, I stood near the edge that overlooked a large drop. “It say anything about getting to the other side?”

            He bent down and there was some grunting on his part as he forced the lever to pull outward and then twist. “There!”

            And before me appeared a bright blue pulsating figure, latticed and transparent. “…in the name of Nocturnal…” I grumbled. Oh, so cautiously I put a foot to the platform and found it to be solid to the touch. “Well, then, guess I’ll just—” But I had tarried just a second too long and the platform disappeared. I fell forward but since my other foot was still planted on firmer ground, I used it to brace myself as my hands flew out and grabbed the edge of the stone ledge. Dangling there, my legs pushed upward to help me climb up but my fingertips slipped further.

            Before I could call for help, Teldryn’s hand shot out and latched onto my wrist. With his other hand, he pulled me upward. “There we go.”

            “Thanks,” was all I said. “Let’s try that again, Tharstan.”

* * *

 

            _Don’t look down. Don’t look down_.

Vahlok never wanted to be found, would be my humble guess. The last few minutes had been filled with awkward silence between Teldryn and I followed by Tharstan being oblivious to our obvious discomfort. It was my fortune to have these disappearing platforms to distract me from what I had said to Teldryn. It didn’t rival my concern about the torutured dragon but rather was parallel to it—equally important in different ways.

            When my foot made the short step to the next platform, my heart leapt into my chest. It would continue to do so until I reached the otherside. Only then would the path be made permanent. Doing my best to distract myself, I thought about how once I had Vahlok’s mask, I would have some answers. That helped improve my mood a little.

            “Now,” I whispered to myself. “Now. Now. Now.” The tiles were appearing at a rapid rate; therefore, they were sure to disappear at a rapid rate. “One more, one more…” And finally I reached what looked like a more stable ledge. Hopping off the last tile, I finally released the breath I had been holding in. “Alright!” I called out, hand to my mouth to amplify the sound. “Seems safe.”

            Without waiting for either of them, I pushed open the giant wooden doors only to be greeted by a familiar sight: a tunnel that featured an entrance surrounded by rings at the end. Instead of immediately turning the rings and unlocking the door, I waited for Tharstan and Teldryn to reach the room. As I did so, I noticed a familiar looking mural. My hand gingerly ran across it.

            “The Hall of Stories!” Tharstan exclaimed before telling me they were too damaged to read.

            I didn’t bother shaking my head or tell him I had one of them memorized by heart: the prophecy of the Dragonborn. It was a smaller version of the one in Sky Haven Temple.

            When Teldryn entered, his eyes settled on me for the briefest of moments before crossing his arms and looking at Tharstan. “What now?”

            “Now,” I answered for him while digging out the amethyst claw pieces. “We open the door.” Tharstan had almost left them behind but I knew better. He didn’t believe me but I’d make sure to rub it in his face if I could remember to do so.

            The best I could do was sort of hold it together as I quickly looked at the symbols on the back. “Here,” I handed the pieces to whoever took it first and then used all my might to turn the rings around, grunting and tugging. This was familiar but boring to the point of tedium, having to wait for the rings to settle before I turned them again. “Wolf, moth, dragon,” I mumbled as I snapped for the pieces again.

            “A little more politely.” I had apparently handed them to Teldryn because Tharstan was too busy examining every blessed thing in the hall.

            “Please,” I said automatically. The claws scraped in and all I had to do was twist. As the stone grated and scratched against itself, I yawned.

            “Tired?” I heard Teldryn ask.            

            I wasn’t about to admit that I was indeed exhausted. I’d spent the last few hours doing nothing but reading in Apocrypha, scrambling for last minute answers. “No.” Curt and to the point.

             He shrugged.

            Motioning to both of them, I pointed to a large staircase leading to something I couldn’t make out. “And this is where either of you can leave now if you wish. Past here is going to be nothing good,” I guaranteed.

            Tharstan continued writing something in a book he had brought with him and only gave me, “I think I’ll just stay here then.”

            As I began the ascent, I heard Teldryn behind me. Stopping, I addressed him, “You don’t have to come.”

            As he took one step closer to me, I heard his armor rattle. “You.”

            “Me?”

            “Yes.” Another step and he was about two feet away from me. “Are the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

            I didn’t argue with him.

            “First,” he began counting on his fingers. “You decide that the time to have plain talk with me is the time to let me know that you think I just wallow in self-pity.”

            “I _didn’t_ say that—”

            “ _Second_ , you insult the people who take you in, care for you. Frea is a _far_ better person than you will _ever_ be. Those people look to you for hope. At least play the part even if you don’t believe it.” He looked incensed.

            “Oh, shut it—”

            “No, _you_ shut it for once. And here I am. _Again_. Thinking, stupidly, that you might appreciate…” he stumbled. “…a friend here to help you. But, no. _Again_ , you’re being a bloody ingrate.”    

            No one can say that I didn’t try to take in his words, keep a straight face as his brow impossibly furrowed deeper and deeper in anger. His finger kept accusing me with each word he spit out.

            I covered my face and threw my hood over my head. Listening to him was just wasting my time now. I constantly blamed myself for my past actions over and over again. I didn’t need some elf adding to my guilt. “Allow me to clear something up for you, _Mer._ ” His face softened a little more in confusion than in realization. “I’m not in the business of making everyone _happy_. I do what needs to be _done_.”

            Just as Teldryn was about to counter me, I added, “You let me know when I’ve disappointed you _enough_.”

            Instead of continuing the conversation, he spit at the ground and pushed past me. “Let’s just go.”

            “Let’s.”

We finished climbing the stairs and I looked through the grate.

            Still water pooled in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by narrow steps. At the very end lay a sarcophagus and I thought I could hear the faint sound of chanting. “Another word wall?” I asked aloud.

            “Tharstan said you’d found a few in here.”

It surprised me how business-like this had become.

            “ _Mid_ and…” I could barely remember anything while I was having that headache. “ _Vur_?” I must have learned it; my memory was just failing me now. Wonderful. “Highly unusual to have all three words in one place. But they all seem to be connected to him.” My head nodded to what I believed to be Vahlok’s resting spot. “And Miraak. My guess is that the Nords had _that_ much respect for him.”

            Teldryn only continued to look through the grate and pulled out his sword. When I stayed his hand, his gaze found mine. “Sorry,” I yanked back my hand. “I just want to see if I can speak with him first before resorting to the usual fare.”

            “ _Speak_ with him?” I watched his nose crinkle and a sneer draw across his mouth. “Are you planning on inviting him to sup on wine and eidar cheese with you?”

            “What I’d like is to _try_. I did it once before.” The chanting was distracting me from my thoughts. “Besides, if things go badly, I have a plan.”

            “Care to let me in?”

            “Well, I didn’t exactly know you were going to be here, so pardon me if I’m working something out on the spot.”

            “I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have bothered,” he grumbled.

            Instead of the thousands of things I could have said, my mouth said, “You need to get out of the way and stay behind him when he appears. This is the man who ripped an entire chunk of land off of Skyrim. It should be easy enough to run along the side there,” I pointed to the stairs and the walkway. “Just make sure you sprint.”

            “Atronachs?”

            I nodded. “Well, I do know how fond you are of them.”

            He ignored me. “And what’ll _you_ be doing?”

            “You just stay out of the center. I’m going to go in swinging hard. Shout up some fire and let that do some damage.”

            Teldryn nodded again and I stole a glace at him. His face seemed resolute and devoid of its usual emotions.

            “Ready?” Before he could answer I pulled the chain and we both ran into something that felt all too familiar.

            Miscalculation on my part.

            The first thing that tipped me off to the mistake was Vahlok bursting out of his crypt, staring straight at me and then shouting, “Miraak!”

            Things went quickly to Oblivion shortly afterwards: the floors I had instructed Teldryn to stay on were all rigged to spew fire and the very next thing Vahlok did was summon a flame atronach.

            Before I could open my mouth, it occurred to me that a shout to breathe fire wouldn’t be wise. Looking at Teldryn racing toward the word wall, I did my very best to avoid him as I threw out a thu’um. “ _FO… KRAH DIIN_!”

            The icy blast hit Vahlok directly and it seemed to stun him a little. Good. I didn’t even bother running as I walked down the middle of the chamber. Lazily, I threw out both hands and out of the void appeared two frost atronachs twice my height. They wouldn’t distract him for long but I needed to get to Teldryn. Weaving in and out of the fray, I barely missed another hit before finding Teldryn crouched behind the word wall. Again, the chanting was distracting. “You alright?”

            He smelled like smoke and the fringes of his armor fur were singed and blackened. “Part of me feels like you did this on purpose.”

            “Yes, this is all going according to plan, me hiding from this thing.” Stealing a glance at what was going on, I could see one of his flame atronachs ready to explode while one of mine stabbed at him. Groaning, I looked back at Teldryn. He just looked exhausted. “As loathe as I am to do this, there is someone who could definitely turn the tables around for us.”

            Before Teldryn could ask who, I let loose, “ _HUN… KAAL ZOOR_!”

            When Hakon One-Eye appeared, I saw Teldryn visibly jump. Hakon wasn’t known for subtlty. The spirit gave a mighty roar and the unsheathed his battleax and tore after the priest. “Gods damn,” he whispered beside me.

            “Teldryn Sero, Hakon One-Eye. He defeated Alduin once.” I looked to check his progress and then turned back, “Kind of. If you consider what I did as a conquest.”

            “I don’t know what you did,” he admitted. “But I’d like to get out of here alive so we can continue arguing.” And then he gave me a half-smile.

            “Working on it,” I unsheathed my sword and handed it to him. “Unlike some of us, I’m not stingy. How are you at duel-weilding?”

            “It’s dangerous and stupid but I suppose I could handle it.”

I heard my last atronach fall and I cringed.

            “That’ll make two of us. You just go and let loose. Put your mouth where _my_ money is and prove you’re the best hired sword in Morrowind.” I drew a symbol into my palm and quickly added, “Because if you don’t, we’re both dying here and now.” My index finger added a quick flourish and I made sure to warn, “But when I say run, you _run_. This is going to be nasty.” My hand started burning with cold and blue lines began to appear in the middle. “ _Now_ is preferable to later.”

            And I almost felt like I was beginning to understand the importance of foot work. While Hakon was proving to be mostly a distraction, Teldryn stepped forward and slashed through one atronach and when he stepped back, he danced around the impending explosion and took my sword and drove it into Vahlok. I didn’t have much time to watch much more because my hand was turning pale.

            “Great idea, Rook,” I growled to myself before tearing after Vahlok myself.

            Dangerous and stupid was about the measure of it. Runes were fairly harmless to the caster as long as one threw them somewhere that wasn’t alive. In order to do _that_ , the rune had to be directly cast on the caster and then—in a _very_ short amount of time—had to be placed on the intended target. If not, the caster became the target. If this spell didn’t kill me, it would cripple me.

            Hakon moved to the side and Teldryn in almost perfect tandem swung. When he side-stepped, Hakon swung. I hated to ruin the moment but my hand was almost blue. It reminded me of a game of tag when I slapped my hand on whatever body part I could reach on Vahlok. Of course, after tagged “it” the next objective is to run. Quickly. “Sero!” He didn’t even miss a beat. In mid-swing he dropped both swords and tore after me.

            We didn’t bother running down the staircase. Leaping down, I managed to tuck into myself and rolled downward so that I when I ended up on the bottom I was still curled up. Teldryn’s approach was to jump but then to jump again. When he fell beside me, I was certain his knees were probably smarting. It didn’t take long before the white explosion burst through the entrance and coverd the top of the stairs with a thick layer of frost.

            Tharstan looked up from his work and glanced at us, “Did you hear an explosion?”

            Getting back on my feet, I ignored him. “Gods. I must have gotten a line wrong somewhere.” Opening my palm, I examined the natural lines inside it.

            Teldryn ran a hand through his hair, mingling the sweat on his brow into it. “I had no idea you could even do that with a rune.”

            “It was supposed to be more powerful.” My palm wasn’t telling me anything. “Oh, well. Let’s just hope he’s dead.”

            The chamber was covered in ice now. The water had a sheen of frost over it. Teldryn moved to pick up his sword and then handed me mine.

            “Thanks.” I was really more interested in finding Vahlok’s mask at the moment. Trying to remember where he had last been, I stood in the freezing cold water and sifted through what I hoped were remains. Only dirt was to be found. “Damn.” I moved again and repeated my actions. My hand hit a gold coin and I felt the weight lift from my shoulders. Finally.

            But my hands flew through the remains and found nothing. “No.”

            Tharstan had come in close behind us and looked at the mess. Instead of asking what happened he glanced at the wall. “Oh, good! There’s enough in this tomb for entire volumes but these walls could add an extra set.”

            “No, no, no, no, no.” My heart fell as my hands flew through the water more frantically. “ _No_.” I felt water begin to slosh into my armor and into my mask. I pulled it down and threw back my hood so that now my hair was becoming drenched.

            “ _Muthsera_ , what’s wrong?” Teldryn stood close enough to talk to me but didn’t come much closer than that.

            “There’s no mask.” My voice waivered. I couldn’t tell if my hands shook from the cold or the realization of what was happening.

            “No mask?” Even he sounded a little surprised.

            And before I could stop it, tears rolled down my face freely. If there had been any hope of stopping Miraak before, it was all gone now. That meant my death was now close at hand. “N-no mask,” I choked and straightened myself. I trudged over to the wall and pushed Tharstan away. “This isn’t for _you_.” I could feel the last word entering into me but I slumped against the wall and cried harder, making horrific howling sounds at the Nords who were chanting at me.

            When the word finally came to me, I felt the bitter irony.

“ _Shaan…_ inspiration.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. 
> 
> Well, a couple of things going on. Some insight into Rook's involvement in the war--obviously, it was frightening. And it looks like Rook is out of options. She is definitely screwed unless something big happens. Oh, her and Teldryn. Those two. When will they shape up and communicate with one another? Oh well. Sad chapter and it's going to get even sadder. as we near the end of RoS.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely guests who've left kudos! Thank you guys so much, I love knowing that everyone likes reading this.
> 
> Next chapter? Next to last Teldryn POV. Guaranteed A+ sad. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	40. Teldryn Interlude XII

            I didn’t know enough curses to sufficiently satisfy my need to send Rook off. Watching her skulk off into the forest with Lucien behind her made me seethe. There was a scream of frustration behind my clenched teeth but instead of releasing it I kicked the ground. One last growl escaped me before I realized that the villagers were all staring at me, Aeta included. Mortified didn’t touch how I felt. Blood rushed to my face quicker than I could have believed possible.

            My eyes darted to the ground as my feet carried me to the Greathall where I was met with Frea’s exasperated stare and tightly folded arms. “By the All-Maker, that was certainly… not what I expected.”

            An understatement for the eras. I couldn’t bring myself to even meet her gaze—my embarrassment with my behavior was overpowering my frustration at Rook. Shaking my head, I slumped into a chair and buried my face in my hands. “By Azura, I don’t _know_.” The words sounded tired even to my ears. My head jerked up as my hands flew out wildly in front of me. “One moment she’s happy as a lark and the next I’m being told to go and…” Settling down for a moment, I tried to respect Frea’s delicate sensibilities. “Well, you heard her.”

            Tharstan was mumbling to himself as things crashed. Frea winced and turned toward the noise before sighing, “Let us hope that she will at least conduct herself accordingly with Tharstan.”

            I cocked my mouth to one side. “I would give that as much chance as me being the All-Maker.”

            She took a seat beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, giving me a light hug. “Are you alright?”

            Another sigh escaped and, a little too enthusiastically, I gave her, “No! By the Tribunal,” one of my hands spread out as if to present her something. “Did you see that? It’s as if no matter how hard I try, that gods damned woman thinks to herself, ‘What can I do to make his life miserable and difficult _now_?’” My hand slapped the table and it stung my palm. “As if _my_ opinion mattered.” Rolling my eyes, I shrugged. “But why should it? _N’wah fetcher_ wants to get herself killed then so be it.”

            Frea gave me one quick squeeze before releasing me. “Well, you can take heart that you are not the only one she has no consideration for.” Bringing her elbow to rest on the table, her head rested in her hand, a breath of air rushing out of her. We sat in uneasy silence listening to Tharstan fumble about. Briefly, I wondered where Fanari was when I remembered her saying something about a hunting party. Tharstan appeared from the other room, looking confused. Gazing at our faces must have hinted at the fact that not all was well.

            “I heard some commotion but didn’t think anything of it.” He looked a little ridiculous, half-balding and wearing such fine clothes but with a pack on his back, hands looped through the straps like an eager child. If by some miracle he _did_ reach Rook without being torn apart by the wilds, she might certainly have something to say about his choice of traveling attire.

            I sneered, “Ha! Commotion? That ungrateful bitch can go bed herself.”

            Frea frowned and I could feel her disapproving gaze. “Truly, it is a _wonder_ why the two of you make such good traveling partners.”

            I mumbled underneath my breath but Tharstan began to move toward the door. “Commotion or not, I can’t miss this opportunity.”

When he pulled the door open, all I could think of to send him off was, “Take care that she doesn’t gut you.”

There was no response from him other than the shutting of the door. Frea, on the other hand, gave me another disapproving look.

“What?”

She shook her head. “This past year has been…” the words came out slowly. “I never imagined that this is where I would be now. My father dead, me the village shaman.” There was another pause. “Meeting the Dragonborn.”

And I had to agree. If anyone had asked me where I thought I would be a year ago, I might have laughed it off. Told them that I saw no reason to leave Solstheim so I wouldn’t and, there I would be, a year from now, sitting at the Retching Netch. Drinking, maybe escorting someone across the island here and there. But all of these events—dragons, Miraak…

The Dragonborn.

Rook.

But really, just Elyrrya.

“You know,” I mused aloud, more out of wishful nostalgia than anything. “The first time I met her, she stole my sujamma and then told me it tasted horrible.” I heard myself laugh. “And my first thought was, ‘Any woman brave enough to take my drink from me must be worth _something_.’”

Frea gave me a half-smile. Her hand went down to an amulet she wore and fingered the pendant dangling from the chain. “How amusing.”

Thinking back on it, I supposed that it was. “It’s only amusing if it didn’t happen to you,” I tried making light of our current circumstances.

“Yes.” The crackle of the fire filled in some of the silence but both of us were lost in thought. “There was a time,” Frea began again, “when I looked at her and didn’t see everything else she was wrapped up in. While we traveled through Miraak’s temple, I looked to her and said, ‘Do this for us, for our island.’ You can probably guess what her response was to that.”

I nodded. Frea looked tired, her light colored eyes filled with fatigue, her short blonde hair a little messy. She pushed a hand through it before continuing, “But she did it. Through all the complaints and…” her eyes met the table. “I was afraid and too cowardly to admit to myself that I was. The Dragonborn? Well, all she needed was _purpose_. Do you know what we found down there? Horrible things. The skeletons of dragons mounted up like trophies that looked like—”

I knew what her next words were and a small piece of me finally began to understand why Rook was so upset. “Like they had been tortured and put on display.”

Killing dragons was her purpose but to be _anything_ like Miraak was troubling Rook greatly. And I had ignored it, let my own feelings about my nightmares get the better of me—the idea that if I _could_ shove it aside then we could go back to how we were before the dragon had snapped my leg in two. She had fooled me, playing into my hopes and giving me what I wanted. Rook pressed on further while she shaved me, while we rested in Frea’s home. But, inevitably, I had forgotten that she was so intent on one thing: killing Miraak. That was why she came to the island and why she would stay.

“But that does not excuse her behavior,” Frea broke into my thoughts. It was almost scary how intuitive she was at times. Then again, I would be the first to admit that I knew nothing about shaman or the Skaal. A sensitive but firm person was obviously the best person for the job.           “It does not,” I agreed.

“So…” She looked at me expectantly, head still resting in her hand. “What will you do now?”

            _That_ question. It had been lingering in the back of my mind since Rook divulged to me what was happening to her. If I had been asked that and I knew she was coming back to Tamriel, my answer would have immediately been, “To ask her if she’ll traverse the empire and beyond with me.”

            Us, together.

            But now the answer was, “I don’t know. Return to Raven Rock?” I thought about that for a moment, if I could go back to that lifestyle. Sitting around, drinking, taking a job here and there. But really, Rook made me remember what I loved about being a mercenary: the traveling, the thrill of being able to do whatever I wanted to, refuse who I wanted to. _And she had it_ ; whoever Elyrrya was, she had it completely. “Maybe,” I added as an afterthought.

            “It must be very lonely,” she finally sat back and relaxed. I had a feeling she wasn’t talking about me. “Never settling down in one place, no home, no friends, no family. I don’t think she has any of that. She’s always wondering, ‘What now?’ or ‘What next?’ I can tell. Can’t you?”

            “Relentless,” was what I told her but in my head I could still hear, “What now? What next?”

            I couldn’t sit here forever with the Skaal, pretending that nothing was going to change if I didn’t move. Pushing away from the table, one of my hands fell to her shoulder and I gave her my best smile.

            “Thank you for everything. And not just for me but for her also.” I cocked my head toward some abstract direction where Rook may or may not have been. “Even though she drives me mad, causes me an infinite amount of grief and is a somewhat deplorable person—”

            And she smiled widely, “—you care deeply about her.”

            “You make it sound so _romantic_ ,” I jabbed at her. “Cute. But if she ever asks, I never admitted it.”

            Surprisingly, Frea laughed. Standing up and walking me to the door she slapped me on the back, “No? You should hear all the honeyed things she thinks about you.”

            “Really?” My eyebrows raised.

            “Oh yes. ‘Teldryn is so handsome,’ and ‘Teldryn is sooo brave!” Her laughing became a little more relaxed and I smirked at her.

            “I would sooner believe you two gossiped and braided one another’s hair.” My hand reached for the door. “But it’s that kind of thinking that is dangerous around her, thinking that she’s like everyone else”

            “And _that_ is the source of your problem.”

Her advice surprised me. “What is?”

            “Teldryn. She is still a _mortal_. She is like you and she is like me. Stop forgetting that.”

* * *

 

            This was the stupidest idea that had ever crossed my mind and there was no denying that.

            “And I’m guessing you don’t repair chitin?”

            Baldor shook his head. “You guess correctly. But I have something that’s as good as ebony.”

            I cringed at the idea of having to traipse across Solstheim without my face covered but resigned myself, trying to remind myself that this part of the island was covered in snow and not ash.

            “How much?” My hand was already digging around in my pockets. Most of the coin jingling around had been from Rook. I tried not to think about her request from earlier, not wanting to admit that it was her last request.

            Baldor glanced up from the workbench. “For you? One thousand gold.”

            Wincing, my hand reached for every Septim she had given me. “Here,” I slid the bags of coins to him. I still had Glover’s store of gold and gems to look through. It would be enough for at least passage to Windhelm. When he handed me the armor, I was caught off-guard. “Stahlrim? I must admit it was more beautiful as a sword.”

            Despite my objections, I went ahead and began buckling and clasping and adjusting the gauntlets and the cuirass. When he handed me the helmet, I refused. “No offense.” I continued pulling on the boots. It was silly but I still preferred my helm that covered my face and I wasn’t going to wear it with this armor. Leaving it exposed felt strange. Even having my face clean-shaven felt off.

            “No, you dark elves have your preferences,” he chuckled. “That one, Fethis, always telling me what the Redoran guard wants, what they can’t use.”

            “You try running around all that ash covered in this fur.” I tugged at the warm lining at the armor. “Would be a horror to clean.”

            “But I’m also guessing you aren’t going to go running around in ash any time soon.” His observation didn’t go unnoticed.

            Even as I was readjusting my belt, I nodded. “I suppose not.”

            Baldor looked up fully from his work            . “That was some yelling you did earlier.”

            It had been. Without saying as much, I gave him, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

            “Little bit I’ve dealt with that woman, I can see how it could be frustrating. Can’t even rescue someone without being polite about it.” He shook his head and went back to tying a few straps onto some freshly beaten steel. “But, y’know, my mistress and I fight sometimes and those far more volatile than what you two did.” He cocked his head toward the forge. “Sometimes burns my blessed hands, the wench.” Baldor was complaining but I could see him smiling.

            My hands checked to make sure everything was secure. “Yes, well, your mistress doesn’t kill dragons either. My…” Dear, gods, what _was_ she to me? “Uh… not _mine_ really… but…” I trailed off. “They’re not comparable,” was all I could think of.

            “I’m sure they’re not. All-Maker bless your steps, elf.” He went back to hammering away at the plated steel.

            Before setting off in the direction Tharstan had mentioned, I took one last look at the villagers. There was no way I could face them right now—Aeta especially—after all the yelling and screaming I had engaged in. Instead my feet carried me forward and I left the village.

            I wasn’t much of a tracker but Tharstan didn’t bother covering his trail. Rook, on the other hand, seemed to disappear—even in the thick snow. That armor combined with her naturally light steps saw to that. She probably never gave a second thought as to if anyone could follow her. I was only able to follow Tharstan’s trail for so long before the signs of his travel became less and less visible

As my feet sank into the snow and crunched in the ice, I tried to ignore my better judgment. Following her was the absolute stupidest thing I could act on; however, I felt the need to do so. For what reason? Untangling my logic was proving difficult. Part of me wanted to yell at her, really lay something at her but another part of me didn’t want our very last words to be angry ones. Only the gods knew why.

There was surprisingly little to be wary of out in the forest and the expanse that led out to the tomb where I was hopefully headed toward. Nothing but the birds of the forest spoke to me, their songs filling the crisp, cold air. I rubbed at my bare face, feeling the beginnings of day old scruff growing in. It would be welcome relief to have something covering my jawline. The pad of my thumb rubbed over a nick in the skin and my thoughts raced back to earlier. Before the fighting, when it was just us in a warm house and acting as if nothing was wrong.

If I had to be completely honest with myself, that was one of the memories of her I hoped would never fade as I grew old. Often I asked Endryn what he remembered from when he was my age. His answer was usually, “In a hurry to see a century pass, Tel?”

            A pang of longing hit me suddenly. I missed my brother dearly. I hadn’t seen him in years and there was no telling where he was at now. Maybe after I had finished with Rook, I would go home to Blacklight. Solstheim was going to quickly lose its appeal once she was gone. That and I almost couldn’t bear to imagine living here and looking at all the things we had seen and done together.

            No. That wouldn’t do. I would have to head back to Blacklight. At least it wouldn’t feel so empty there.

            My thoughts were left to plan and wonder as I pressed onward. When I did reach the tomb, I was afraid that I was in the wrong place for a moment. The crevice was barely an opening and I had to maneuver carefully to slide in. It was dark and quiet. Eerily quiet.

            Drips of moisture fell from the ceiling into a body of water in the cave—the echo clear and distinct. It wasn’t long before I came upon the enormous main hall and Tharstan, who was looking at a pedestal. But Rook was nowhere to be found.

            “Tharstan?” I called to him.

            He jumped and turned around, grabbing his chest. “Oh, praise the Eight, it’s just you. This place has been crawling with draugrs.”

            “I’d believe it.” I scanned over the expanse. These ruins were enormous and a thick fog obscured any visibility to the ground. “Where’s Rook?”

            “Oh.” He turned back to whatever he had been examining. “She’s here… sort of.”  
            “What in Oblivion does _that_ mean?” My nostrils flared as the scent of something hot and rotted finally reached me. It had to be the giant pit below us.

            “I don’t quite know myself. She told me to come back in here and wait. We had found a couple of word walls but I doubt that has anything to do with that.”

            I groaned, knowing what that meant. “Just take me to her.”

            He didn’t look happy about being taken away from his work, but he complied and led me into a small corridor and pointed the way. “What is it?”

            “Oh, nothing of importance,” I muttered, squeezing through a section of rock. “She’s right though. Just stay out here.”

            Tharstan didn’t argue and scurried off to whatever he had been doing.

            She wasn’t hard to find. Almost-Rook stood in the middle of a room and I could see her somewhat-transparent lips silently reading.

            “Damn it,” I cursed.

            But there was nothing else to be done. I reclined against the steps and crossed my legs.

            “I’ll be here waiting whenever you decide to come back.”

* * *

 

            If listening to her retch was never pleasant then it was made worse echoing in an empty room.

            I couldn’t believe myself. There was about one second of self-control before I rushed over to her and yanked her hair away from her as the hot, foul smelling sick wafted from the sarcophagus to my nose.

            “ _Lovely_ ,” she rasped.

            “Lovely indeed. You know, I can't really decide what is most charming about you. The way you suggest I should shove an entire island up my arse or the way you constantly vomit. How's a man to choose?” My arm curled around her shoulders as I felt her body shudder as she heaved again.

            Once she somewhat recovered, we sat near the word wall. Silence fell between us.

            “So,” I tried.

Her reaction was predictable. She threw back a bottle of wine and snapped, “I thought I told you to shove off, begone.”

            “Noooo.” I was feeling a little irritated. “I believe you told me I could rot here. You never said where _here_ was.”

            I could hear her scoff and she shifted around here and there. I half-waited for a thanks that would never come and the annoyance rubbed at me like dirt in an oyster.

            “Am I that horrible to you?” I didn’t give her a chance to finish. “Because I'm not, in my humble opinion. Really, I'm possibly the best damn thing that's ever happened to you.” As soon as I said it, I knew she would take it the wrong way.

            And she did. “Oh, good. I was hoping that when I died I could say, ‘Well, at least a man was the best damn thing that ever happened to me.’ You're really a piece of work, you arrogant—”

            It hit me a little closer than it should have. Maybe every time I had prodded at her wore her down; briefly I wondered if my joking about her and Glover earlier had annoyed her against my intentions. “I'm sorry. This isn’t the time to jest.”

            And it seemed a little easier after that, our banter falling into its usual stride. She asked about my armor; I asked about her soul. A little strange but it seemed normal nowadays. Used to be my patrons only wanted to talk about bandits or women or men or weapons. But Rook had bigger goals, more to talk about, a great deal more experience than I had. One day I’d find out her age and I would be shocked. Maybe one day.

            Until I heard her say, “…Sometimes I think Niranye's right; the Dunmer just wallow in their self-pity and…”

            The way her voice stopped suddenly told me she saw the mistake in her words. I wasn’t sure what hurt me more: the fact she had those types of thoughts or the fact it seemed like she had been hiding it from me.

            It made me wonder what else she had been hiding.

            I couldn’t look at her right now. “Yes, well.” I didn’t want to keep talking to her about this. I had no desire to listen to her clumsy excuses or floundering words. Whatever my reasoning for coming here, I was immediately regretting it.

            Rook was fully aware of her mistake. “I've got to get back to Tharstan.” She was still stumbling over her words. “You can…um…leave if you'd like.”

            It was strange. She sounded a tad apologetic. I shook my head. I didn’t care if she got down on her knees and kissed my boots.

            “I should,” I snapped at her.

            There were a few more words exchanged but my seething, quiet sense of frustration and anger was blinding me to whatever her exact speech was.

            And in that moment I hated her because I finally realized what Frea meant, what Rook had kept telling me over and over and over again.

            She was nothing more than what we were: mortal.

            In her case, pathetically deplorable and an ungrateful shit.

            Around Tharstan I didn’t mind joking and being friendly.

            Around her, I helped when necessary but nothing beyond that. No words exchanged beyond what was needed and no touches were given past what was required.

            I shouldn’t have come here. I doubted that reconciliation was possible—we simply didn’t have the time. That and I had lost my patience for the matter. It wasn’t just her. I was mad at myself for ignoring everything she did or said to me, constantly placating myself by thinking, “She’s exaggerating. She can’t be serious.”

            Snapping fingers broke the spell and I saw her hand outstretched toward me.

            Looking down at my hand, I realized she wanted pieces of a light purple claw that I had been holding. “A little more politely,” I demanded.

            “Please.” When I gave her the pieces, she yawned.

            Automatically I asked, “Tired?” Gods damn it all. I was infuriated with her and here I was still asking about her well-being.

            Luckily, she didn’t seem to be in the mood for talking either. “No.”

            And even when she advised both of us to stay behind, I dutifully followed. At this point, I couldn’t tell if it was out of genuine concern or out of habit. Either way, my feet continued to move forward and take each step as we moved upward.

            Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks. “You don’t have to come.”     

            For some reason, that grated at my already sensitive nerves. I knew I didn’t _have_ to. I also didn’t _have_ to hold her hair back as she retched or ask about her well-being or any of the stupid things I wasn’t getting paid for. I wanted to and she just _did not_ understand why the distinction was important.

            “You,” I moved a little closer so I could be sure I had her attention. “Are the stupidest person I’ve ever met.” When she didn’t say anything, I raised my voice and just spouted off the first thing that came to mind, “First, you decide that the time to have plain talk with me is the time to let me know that you think I just wallow in self-pity.”

            There was a protest but I continued, “ _Second_ , you insult the people who take you in, care for you. Frea is a far better person than you will _ever_ be.” Even when I said it, I wasn’t sure _why_ I had. It was said though and my mouth kept moving. “Those people look to you for hope. At least play the part even if you don't believe it.”

            And _then_ she tried to say, “Oh, shut it—”

            From some unknown place came, “No, _you_ shut it for once.” But now that it had surfaced, a weight lifted from my shoulders. “And here I am. _Again_. Thinking, stupidly, that you might appreciate…” And I stumbled. What _was_ she to me? I settled on, “… a friend here to help you. But, no. _Again_ , you're being a bloody ingrate."

            When was the last time I had been so angry? I knew the answer to that quickly: the time Endryn and I had gotten into that drunken brawl. But even that anger had been fueled by drink.

            There was precious little exchanged after that. I ignored her for the most part but asked questions when I felt she wasn’t being clear about our plan of action. It was strange the way I could trust someone and then _not_ trust them in the same breath. I was allowing her to dictate my movement and I was going to have to trust her.

            I paid for that the moment I dashed into Vahlok’s tomb.

* * *

 

            The moment my foot fell into the floor and triggered the trap, the thought, “She’s trying to kill me on _purpose_ ,” crossed my mind. The acrid smell of gasoline fueled fire exploded around me and I was just so gods damned _hot_ with flames licking at my heels and singeing my armor.

            It wasn’t until I looked back before ducking behind the word wall that I saw the look of shock on her face as her legs sloshing through the water. She had summoned a few atronachs so they were serving as momentary distractions.

            As she slumped in behind me, I commented dryly, “Part of me feels like you did this on purpose.”

            Rook glanced behind the wall and popped her head back in quickly. “Yes, this is all going according to plan, me hiding from this thing.” She groaned and then looked at me, the glance a lingering more than it should have. “As loathe as I am to do this, there is someone who could definitely turn the tables around for us.”

            Without warning she shouted something unfamiliar and a huge blue spectral form appeared in front of us, unsheathing his battle ax quickly. Even I felt myself jump. “Gods damn.”

            “Teldryn Sero, Hakon One-Eye. He defeated Alduin once. Kind of. If you consider what I did as a conquest.”

            Involuntarily, a stupid smile began to bloom across my face. Even though I was mad at her, it was so thrilling to see her _thrive_ in danger. Even more exciting was the fact I was here thriving with her. “I don't know what you did, but I'd like to get out of here alive so we can continue arguing.”

            “Working on it.” She unsheathed her sword and handed it to me, hilt first. “Unlike some of us, I'm not stingy. How are you at duel-wielding?”

            _Dual-wielding_ , I could hear myself mentally groan. Cheap, paltry, and dangerous tricks of every young man trying to impress someone. “It's dangerous and stupid but I suppose I could handle it.” I was hoping to not regret those words.

            “That'll make two of us.” Those words didn’t comfort me. “You just go and let loose. Put your mouth where _my_ money is and prove you're the best hired sword in Morrowind because if you don't, we're both dying here and now.” Her finger drew out something into her palm and I was a bit transfixed at the light forming in the cup of her lifelines. “But when I say run, you _run_. This is going to be nasty.”

            And I didn’t move immediately, too busy staring at the ice starting to form on her hand.

            “ _Now_ is preferable to later.”

            The irony of that statement was not lost on me but my foot shoved off and ran.

* * *

 

            Tharstan edged closer to me and whispered, “Is she alright?”

            My fingernail scraped off some ice from my sword and I flicked it toward the sheen of frost that glazed the surface of the still water. “No, but it’s none of your concern. If I were you, I’d go take your notes elsewhere for now.”

            No reason for Tharstan to get ensnared in this.

            Rook was howling like some mutilated she-wolf, her cries mangled and unintelligible. Her fingers scraped at the wall so hard that I could see blood beginning to streak across the stone. As furious as I was at her, I couldn’t watch this. Uncrossing my arms, I slowly walked over and put a hand on her shoulder.

            And just like that, all the fight went out of her. Already slumped against the wall, her body went limp and the sound her head made against the stone just _felt_ painful. There was a good chance she had no idea I was even near her at the moment.

            I sighed. Even though I wanted to scream and shout and tear into her, this wasn’t the time. The part of me wanting to leave on better terms than we had in the village got the better of me and I slid down beside her bringing my legs close to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

            Rook didn’t say anything but curled into herself a little, laying on the stone. I would stay beside her but I’d be damned if I let her rest on my lap. We sat there, quiet with only the sounds of the ruin around us. The dank smell of stagnant water was starting to resurface. After a moment, I realized I could hear the soft sound of light snoring. Glancing down, I realized that she had just passed out, probably exhausted from the recent events.

            It was a shock to see that she looked like she was actually _sleeping_ instead of rolling around with her eyes closed—an unusual sight. Not quite leaving for Apocrypha, but she was still leaving me to wait for her yet again. This was getting old.

            This time though, I had no qualms about keeping myself busy. My arm reached over to her side and found the opening to her pouch and pulled out exactly what I wanted to find: the journal she wrote everything in. It wasn’t anything special: leather-bound and a little worn, it had papers stuck in here and there. The pages were yellowed and some had been stained with I didn’t even want to know what.

            Opening to the first page, all that was written was the number “8” scribbled haphazardly close to the middle of the page. I supposed that this was one of many she had kept over the years. Other than that, it was unremarkable. The first entry was dated about a month before she arrived in Solstheim. From what I could gather, Rook had been staying in Whiterun for some reason when she wrote that someone attacked her. The next entry detailed her plans for preparing to travel to Solstheim. The list was practical:

_Taxes: Breezehome, Honeyside, Vlindrel Hall, Hjerim, Proudspire Manor_

            _Nazir: 3000 Sep. for racks and chains_

_Brynjolf: Second ledger upkeep; talk to fence in Whiterun_

I turned the page, trying to make sense of the writing. The only thing I knew for certain was that my understanding of her wealth was vastly understated. This woman owned five pieces of property in addition to the house she owned in Raven Rock. It was one thing to own them but to be able to afford yearly upkeep on all of them was… well…

            Impressive.

            The next page was a little more interesting:

            _Arrived in Raven Rock; under the protection of House Redoran. Hired mercenary, Dunmer. Died:_

And it was blank after my upcoming date of death. It was more than a little disturbing, seeing that she had already expected me to die from the first day she met me. And another thing Frea said to me echoed in my thoughts. How lonely she must be. Lots of houses but no homes. From what I understood, no family. Friends? Who knew? But I could imagine that someone who met others and instantly braced themselves for death must walk the loneliest of paths.

            Flipping through the rest of the journal didn’t yield anything interesting; it was written very factually. No opinions or emotions and thoughts. Just the facts. I closed it and replaced the book, waiting for her to awaken.

            I didn’t have to wait long.

            Whatever she had slept off didn’t knock her out for long but her face still looked drowsy. Her hand went to her head and she moaned.

            “Oh, gods… my head.” As if disoriented for a moment, Rook looked around. “Please just tell me that Sanguine wasn’t involved.”

            Against my control, a short laugh burst from me. “What? You and Sanguine often run around for days on end for endless debauchery?”

            The palm of one hand rubbed an eye roughly and she started to unlace and unbuckle her boots. “You end up naked in a Temple of Dibella _one_ night and no one lets you live it down,” she muttered. Tugging off one boot, she turned it upside down and water spilled out.

            “I won’t even ask.” Glancing at her feet, they looked funny—pale and garish against all her dark clothes.

            “It’s going to take forever for my boots to dry.” She didn’t seem too concerned about it. “Because the gods know what happens when you don’t.” 

            “What happens?” I asked, generally curious.

            “You don’t know?” Her smile looked bemused.

            “Well, I’ve lived in either snow or ash. Haven’t spent a whole lot of time wading around with water in my armor.”

            Tugging off the boot, she explained, “Keep feet in water-logged boots too long and they turn white, bloat, skin starts peeling off in thick layers. Back during the war it was a big problem in Falkreath.”

            “Hmm,” was all I had for that. Talking about water-logged feet hadn’t been my intention.

            Straightening her back to the wall, she placed herself beside me.     

            “So.”

            “So.”

            It took us a full five minutes to get anywhere further.

            “This is it Teldryn, after this you won’t see me anymore. I don’t want you coming with me to Neloth’s.” She picked at her fingertips.

            There wasn’t a good way to send someone off to their death. It was even harder with the fragile state of whatever our relationship was. “I’m aware.”

            “I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. My head snapped to her and I could feel my brows furrow.

            “Beg pardon?”

            “You heard me,” she didn’t break eye contact with me. “I’m not going to repeat myself.”

            It was more than a little surprising—an apology from the woman who never apologized. “For?” I knew I was pressing my luck.

            Rook knew it too. “Really, Teldryn?” Despite her curt words, she was smiling.

            I returned the gesture. “I had to at least try.”

            “Well, just fill in the blanks.”

            And I took a moment to recall more of Frea’s words. Rook just looked _tired._ Her dark hair was knotted and unkempt; there were tinted purple bags under her eyes which were sunken into her face. The pallor of her face, her stare… just like a mortal who was exhausted. And it struck me that she didn’t look the same as when we first met. The gradual changes had just been harder to see when we had been together constantly.

            “If you had prior knowledge that this was going to happen,” I started slowly. “Would you have come to Solstheim?”

            For the briefest of moments her mouth opened but then it closed. She didn’t know the answer to the question immediately.

            I flashed her another weak smile. “Well, I’ve rendered Elyrrya Ashwing speechless. Truly a victory.”

            She scoffed. “Stop that.”

            “Stop what?”

            “Calling me Elyrrya.”

            “Oh, come now, you don’t expect me to always call you Rook when—”

            Her hand flew up. “That’s not what I meant.” She went quiet. “No one used to call me Elyrrya—I was always Elya.” Some memory made her smile for a moment before it dissipated.

            “Elya? That’s a little too cute for someone like you,” I joked lightly. A little more seriously I added, “You could have just asked me to call you that.”

            “It wasn’t my intention for everyone on this island to know my name.”

            I let my legs loosen and I shifted. “Regardless, I like Elya.”

            “Yeah, so did a lot of other people,” I heard her mutter under her breath. “But… to answer your question, I don’t know. On the one hand _this_ ,” her hands motioned to herself, “wouldn’t be happening but then…”

            The thought trailed off and I didn’t even ask. I just pretended that what she wanted to say was that she would have never met me. Instead of voicing my desire out loud, I offered, “You wouldn’t be sitting in this gorgeous ruin.” I had hoped that she wouldn’t ask the same question of me because I wasn’t sure I could tell her that I would have wished her to stay away. It was a selfish thought but I almost preferred having her and watching her suffer to not having her at all. I wasn’t about to voice that thought aloud.

            A snort erupted from her. “Yes. Very Nordic. Very ruined. How novel.”

            Rook refused to indulge me by finishing her thought.

            I decided to ask a more hopeful question. “And if this _wasn’t_ happening? What would you be doing? You’ve just defeated Miraak and you are free to do as you please. What now?”

            I could tell she was giving it some serious deliberation. Her hands moved from her mouth back to one another and then back again, I watched her eyes dance around the possibilities. When she didn’t give me one, I offered her one, “You and me.”

            Her eyes widened in clear surprise. “You and me?”

            I nodded decisively and looked out over the water. “That’s right. You and me, tearing clear across Tamriel. From Morrowind to Elsweyr to High Rock—”

            The idea clearly had her excited. “To the Summerset Isles.”

            Her interest was only fueling mine. My arms spread across wide and I motioned out to some invisible expanse ahead of us. “To Black Marsh and, well, we should probably save Skyrim for last.”

            “Last,” she agreed. “You know, until I died.”

            “You?” I laughed. “Die?”

            “Quick and bright, you said so yourself. You’d have a long, long life well after I died.”

            “Ah.” It was a little depressing the way she had veered back into the path of something I clearly meant to avoid. “But until then, we could drink in every bar and break noses and go stealing about in every area no one wants us in.”        

            “No dragons,” Rook mused. “No gods and no jarls or being thane or—”

            “Thane?” I interrupted her. “How in the name of the gods did you become a thane?”

            “Oh, I’m a thane in every Hold,” she said flippantly. “They hand out those titles like sweet rolls to children.” She began pulling her boots back on.

            “There is clearly a lot I still don’t know about you,” I replied. “I don’t think you should be so willing to walk off to your death with me so woefully informed.”

            She smirked. “Like my thoughts on Windhelm?”

            And we couldn’t avoid that forever. “Is that really what you think?” I asked cautiously. “Every abuse that was slung at me, every sword drove into me, all of that you think was because I was wallowing in self-pity?”

            She took a deep breath, obviously choosing her words carefully. “If I must leave this world with only a few words to give to one person, I would tell you that the world is more complicated than it seems.” I opened my mouth but she kept talking. “No, you _don’t_ know that. If you did, then you’d wonder why you feel so abused but feel nothing for any of the Man, Mer or Beast that had been enslaved by the Dunmer.”

            “That was a long time ago and I—”

            “—had nothing to do with it. I know. I don’t agree with what happens in Windhelm,” she finally got to the heart of the matter. “But stop looking for the wrong-doer in every story. You look close enough and we all start looking like villains eventually. Are the Thalmor right? I don’t know. I don’t know if the Blades were right either. All I know is that there’s plenty of blame to go around. ”

            She fell silent. I didn’t understand everything she was telling me, but I understood her thoughts.

            “And you? You can’t just tell me these sorts of things in the beginning? I would prefer it to curses and yelling,” I pointed out.

            I watched her chest rise and fall deeply. “Because I can’t, won’t, or don’t. Take your pick. It just doesn’t happen that way for me.”

            And I _almost_ asked her why. Before I could even consider doing so, she stood up.

            Rook was calling our time together and this was the end of it.

            I stood with her. “So, this is it.” My hand moved to grab hers but I thought better of it.

            “It is.”

            I desperately tried to burn the image of how she was now into my memory—her dark, wild hair framing her face and her equally dark eyes studying me, the scar over her left one looking deep and furrowed.

            “Teldryn.” My eyes tried to study the way her lips moved but it was far too late. If I hadn’t paid attention before, any effort now was wasted. “Do you promise?”

            “Promise what?” And I felt my voice hitch.

            “That we’ll tear across Tamriel.”

            And I gave her my brightest smile—the only thing I could offer her now. “I suppose if you ever come back. But _noooo_ ,” I tried teasing. “You go on, leave me here. When you decide to return to your senses, you’ll know where to find me.”

            “Will I now?” She flashed me a tired grin.

            “Well, I was enjoying our travels together. I’d be happy to rejoin you for no charge… if you’re interested.” I shrugged.

            She rolled her eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

            Neither of us knew what to do, facing one another and feet shuffling about.

Running my hand through my hair I mumbled, “You just let me know when this is over with.”

Her hands wrung together. Quickly she yanked off the ring she wore and both hands encompassed one of mine to hold it briefly. When she pulled away, the ring was resting in my palm.

“Alright then.” She turned to walk away, taking care to watch the water. “And good luck,” she called out to me.

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Good luck.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	41. The Despised Priest of the Dragons

I was getting sick of the ash—it covered my boots and lodged itself in my armor. Sick of the ash, sick of Solstheim. Sick of being… _sick_ , for lack of a better word.

            Flopping onto the nearest fallen tree, I stared out at Tel Mithryn. It wasn’t long until my eyes wandered onto Red Mountain, thick plumes of smoke spilling from its summit. Absentmindedly, my thumb moved across my palm to rub the patch of skin where my ring had been. Since leaving Teldryn, I had been cursing myself: the ring was expensive, enchanted, and a tad sentimental for me. But, in a moment of panic, I’d given it to Teldryn. I couldn’t quite be sure why I did it. If I was honest with myself, I might have been able to admit that I just wanted him to have something to remember me by.

            “Idiot,” I mumbled to myself. “Gods damned Dunmer doesn’t know how to be quiet. No need to give him a ring that would help him be light on his feet.”

            Glancing back from my ring finger to Tel Mithryn, I sighed. Part of me felt like crying. I certainly did after leaving Brynjolf. But I was out of tears and more concerned about Miraak than whatever missed opportunities I would have had with Teldryn. It hadn’t been a particularly _good_ farewell but I suspected that he remained friendly more for his benefit than for mine. He just wasn’t the kind of person who could allow himself to be eaten by regrets.

Unlike me.

Encountering Vahlok had been more than troubling. There was no mask and he had called me Miraak. Or at least that’s what it sounded like to me. My mind kept trying to reassure itself that, no, that hadn’t been the case. From what I understood, he died on this island and had served as its guardian, protecting it from Miraak. When the guardian addressed me as the traitor, it could have been the result of an eras-old obsession that had fermented into the sweetest of wines, one that he could not stop from drinking.  

There wasn’t anything more for me to ponder over about that though—I could only hope Neloth would have some answers for me. My hand crept to my side and slid into my pouch without me willing it to. When it came out, I couldn’t help but laugh: my timepiece. All I could do was stare as the seconds ticked by.

I felt so removed from my life in Skyrim—what it had been anyway. All the miles I had traveled, all the blisters on my feet. Every step I had taken for someone or something else’s cause. The Dark Mother and her assassin’s now had a place in the empire again, a foot hold now gained in Skyrim; the thieves and Nightingales could now lurk about in the shadows in every corner of the country. The Companions spent me in full, the Stormcloaks had won their war. Even facing Alduin had been ordained by some prophecy that had been long foretold before my birth. Whenever I thought about that though, I was almost glad though that I would be able to die with the secret of what _really_ happened that day. Carrying that sort of knowledge with me without confessing it to even Paarthurnax was a little more than troubling at times.

The watch hand moved to the next minute and I exhaled. Miraak was a veritable unknown though. His claim to the title of _first_ Dragonborn was now questionable but he was undoubtably Dragonborn. A normal Tongue couldn’t manage his kind of Thu’um, no question about it. But what was his link to me? He had been insistant on taking every dragon soul that should have been rightfully mine. But for what purpose? The longer I sat there, the more I realized that these were questions I asked myself every day now and they still had no satisfying answer.

Like most things in my life, the pieces were set just so and I had no rhyme or reason as to why. I didn’t like thinking about it. The implications were always a little too horrifying for me. Ironically, Mercer Fray’s last words were now echoing in the back of my mind: “The gods have sat us upright; don’t be surprised when they ask you to run.” Another troubling thought.

When I couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer, I stood up. My feet sunk back into the ash and I made my way to Tel Mithryn. No one was outside and it was a little too quiet for my tastes. When I found myself facing the door, I didn’t knock but flung it open. Instinctively, I hopped and the enchantment propelled me upward. Deftly, I stepped onto the platform as I hovered slightly above it. No one was to be found but the tower was a _mess_. Really though, mess was an understatement.

            Papers scattered everywhere, two or three more enchanting tables in addition to the ones already in place stood here and there. More than a few soul gems had been placed in ideal locations on the tables—I may not have been any good at enchanting but I remembered some of my studies. Weak soul gems could only be placed on certain corners and stronger ones on others; however, there were some positions that could take any gem. The only hitch was that those were unstable and the effects were never quite the intention of the enchanter. Of course, Neloth had all of his gems on _those_ spaces.

            “Anyone here?” I called out.

            I jumped as a voice behind me said, “Yes?”

            I spun around and found a surprising face. “Drovas?”

            “You!” His hand flew to his mouth and nearly ran back from the room he had popped out of. “You really shouldn’t be here, you know. Neloth is a mad man: drinks ash, talks to mud crabs—”

            “—sounds like Neloth. Don’t worry, we know one another.” I uncovered my face and took off my gloves. As my fingers tried to rake through my hair, a knot stopped me in mid-motion. I sighed. “I’m more curious as to why _you’re_ here. I thought you worked at the Netch.”

            “The _Retching_ Netch,” he corrected. “And, yes, but,” his voice lowered, “Talvas came into Raven Rock looking for a new steward for Master Neloth.”

            “I remember something like that happening,” I commented as my hand reached into my pouch and felt Ildari’s cold, hard heart wrapped in a threadbare cloth.

            Drovas’ voice still low, he admitted, “I wouldn’t have done it but I owed some money to Mogrul. I just told Talvas it was because Geldis wouldn’t let me drink on the job but Slitter was threatening me.” He shrugged and motioned around him. “But now I don’t have to worry about it.”

            My fingers moved past Ildari’s organ and found a comb which I extracted. I pulled it through my hair painfully. “I doubt it’s _that_ easy to dodge your debts, Drovas. Where’s Neloth?”

            “ _Master_ Neloth is right here.” Neloth scowled from a dark corner near Drovas. His thin face was pulled into a thinner, longer grimace. As he stalked from where he was, he didn’t take his eyes off of me. “Drovas! Tea.” He didn’t look away and Drovas didn’t move. “ _Now_.”

            His pointed beard was a little more scraggly than usual, the close-shaven hair on his head a little over-grown. Obviously, more than one sleepless night had been his companion.

            My face tried to match his scowl as I tucked the comb away. “Well, you’ve had some time. What can you tell me about those masks?”        

            Neloth was taller than me but his robe made him more intimidating. He sneered at me. “Well, well. You presume to tear down my door, scream at the top of your lungs, and _then_ demand to see my work?”

            My weight shifted and I crossed my arms. “What? _Great_ Telvanni wizard can’t figure them out?”

            His gaze narrowed into mine. “It isn’t the _great Telvanni wizard_ who is gripped with madness.”

            I didn’t look away. “It would be quite unfortunate if a mad Dragonborn were to destroy all your work here.”

            And then there was silence. Neloth scowled and then finally explained, “I had a visitor—former enchanting student of mine.”

“What do I care?” This was getting on my nerves.

            He rolled his eyes. “You might care that my student was able to piece together something very interesting.”

            This was feeling far too coincidental. A student who just _happened_ to show up at the exact moment I’d needed Neloth’s help? I squinted at him.

            “I don’t like what this feels like.”

            He merely waved his hand dismissively. “Think what you like but Tristyn was just here to visit.”

            This wasn’t going to have a satisfying end so I decided not to pursue it further. “So, the masks?”

            Neloth briskly walked past me, knocking against my shoulder as he did so. I followed his gaze to something on the wall. “I find it very interesting that someone like yourself would be capable of wearing such powerfully enchanted masks.”

            I looked more closely at what he was staring at: my scribblings from the _Oghma Infinium_. Shit. I should have known something like this was bound to bring up questions.

            “I’m the Dragonborn, of course.” I laughed a little too loudly, throwing my hands up into the air. “You do remember that, right?”

            Neloth look back at me and didn’t smile. My own dropped. He didn’t uncross his arms.

            “You aren’t buying that, obviously.”

            “If the Dragonborn was an ax-wielding Nord with no inclination for magic, then they might be able to use these things once in while. But all the time?” He motioned to the masks, “For someone who chose the Path of Shadows, it is strange that you would have such a strong magicka link.”

            I winced. “I only use them once in a while.” Hopefully, I could steer the conversation away. I didn’t want to talk about this.

            “If by ‘once in a while’ you mean all the time.”

            His hand snatched my wrist and a bony, cold thumb smashed into the cup of my palm.

            “Ow!” I tried yanking it back but his grip was more powerful than I anticipated. My stomach dropped as I watched a web of thin black lines grow out from his touch. When he turned my hand around, a black symbol appeared. “Damn it.”

            “Just as I suspected,” he sneered. “ _Oht_. No mere thief would be so inclined to magic use.”

            This time I was able to break from his grasp. “So?”

            “And a black link as well.” He squinted at me. “It seems Tristyn’s intutitions were correct. My question is what did you do to get expelled out of that sorry excuse for a school of magic?”

            Whoever in Oblivion Tristyn was, he was going to be sorry if he ever met me. Rubbing my hand, I tried to change the topic, “I thought Dunmer were supposed to be good at reading Daedric. It’s written in there.” Turning my palm over, I examined the script inside the Daedric symbol, although there was no need—I had memorized the marks on my hands long ago. There was no denying that it wouldn’t fade for a couple of days now.

            Neloth’s eyes narrowed. I would have given anything to be anywhere else but here now.

His eyes glanced at my hand. “All it says is _misconduct_.”

            “Well, then,” I shrugged. “You have your answer.” I had hoped to avoid this conversation. It was unsettling enough to know he was from House Telvanni. That knowledge had not been terribly troubling up until now, when he found out I had been kicked out of the College of Winterhold.

            He leered at me but snapped his fingers.  

            My eyes glanced at Drovas who was busy scuttling back toward us. He presented Neloth with a tea cup and Neloth snatched it from him. Drovas looked at him expectantly as he took a slow, careful sip and then made a face of disgust, spitting out the tea.

            “Drovas!” He shoved the tea cup back into the steward’s chest, causing some of the hot liquid to seep through his clothes. Drovas winced in pain. “A _proper_ cup of canis root tea this time. _Go_.”

            To me he muttered, “He’s utterly useless.”

            “You should have seen him in Raven Rock,” I dryly commented. “Is there a reason you needed to do this?” I held the back of my hand to him, displaying the symbol.

            He scoffed at me. “It answers a few questions I had that were still lingering.”

            My mouth cocked to one side and I raised an eyebrow. “What would being a magic user have anything to do with these things?”

            Neloth brushed past me and leaned over one of the enchanting tables, throwing a candlelight spell over himself so he could see whatever he was looking at a little better. “Did I say it was about the _masks_?” My heart skipped a beat, the way he said that. “But I’m assuming you _took care_ of Ildari? The attacks have completely stopped,” he changed the topic abruptly.

            I nodded and extracted the cloth from my pouch. When I handed it to him, his smile was wide and a little maniacal.

            “Yes,” he laughed. “I knew that you would realize what it would take—conjurers are only below enchanters.”

            The implication of that statement wasn’t lost on me. Everyone at the College hadn’t been fond of those whose main focus was conjuration. Enchanters were tolerated because no one really had to understand what they did when they used a soul gem to recharge a weapon’s magical abilities. Even common folk in the towns knew that conjurations were from Oblivion. Most of the time anyway.

            I was getting annoyed. “Alright, _enough_.” Slamming a hand down at the table he was leaning over, the force knocked over a few soul gems. “The _masks_.”

            His head snapped up and a hand snatched my wrist, pulling me down and causing me to fall over the table. “Listen _well_ , girl.”

            And, oh, how I did my best to irritate him: I spat on his table.

            I could just _see_ the idea of killing me cross his mind. Instead he let me go.

            And then he _laughed_. Only it wasn’t a mirthful sound.

            “It’s funny,” he finally chortled. “A few years ago a member of House Telvanni was sent to the College of Winterhold.”        

            Regaining my posture, I tried to think of the right thing to say to shut his mouth, but his mocking tone struck me, resonating some part that hadn’t seen the sun or heard the world in so long. Speechless, I just stood there.

            “And, well, we all had high hopes for her but, alas, she died. Killed thanks to one of the students there.” He smirked and leaned over close, over the gems laying about and some candle wax now spilling onto the dark stone. “What’s even funnier is the fact that there are very, _very_ few reasons why a student might be expelled.”

            My breathing became uneven despite my best efforts to steady it. This was not what I needed after leaving Teldryn. I refused to be reminded of this. Tears were threatening to break through—all they needed was the mention of a name.

            “Neloth.” Leaning in close and steeling my expression, I whispered, “You either tell me what you know or I leave now and deal with this blindly.” For emphasis I added, “Drop this or I _will_ force my hand.”

            And he thought about it, straightening himself. A bemused finger tapped his lips as his sinister smile widened. “My word. Well, be that as it may, House Telvanni has been sorely missing that family member. For your _valiant_ servitude and actions for the great House Telvanni, I would like to grant you membership into our family.” My face dropped. “It would serve not only as a proper reward for such _heroism_ but as _consolation_ for our dear lost daughter.”

            “You _bastard_.” My face was red, there was no questioning that fact. I could feel the heat coming from my emotions that I thought were long dead.

            As if to deliver the final blow, Neloth added, “You would be a suitable addition to fill the hole she left— _she_ was a conjurer. You are… well, _something_ of a conjurer. And look, you would be about the same age too. What a _coincidence._ ” He took a step around the table to meet me.

            Then his hands gripped what flesh he could on my cheek and yanked downward. “You should be on your knees, _thanking_ me. I didn’t care one whit about that girl but her parents wanted _blood_. An Outlander like you? All I would have to do is throw you into the thick of Morrowind and spread the seeds of what I know across the land. House Telvanni would make _sure_ that your innards were strung through the streets.”

            To my own surprise I didn’t retaliate. Maybe it felt good to finally feel some retribution for what happened. His fingers pinched harder and I gritted my teeth. Whatever tears had been threatening to spill were now welling in the corners of my eyes.

            “So really, I’m doing you a _favor_. Telvanni might forgive you knowing a great wizard such as I had offered you entry into our house. Now, accept it gratiously. Acknowledge that my great mercy is only equal to my great power and _maybe_ I’ll consider sharing some of my wisdom with you.”

            This was humiliating, demeaning. Neloth _knew_ about what had happened all those years ago and now he was making me accept his offer. It was not meant to be an honor but a mockery. He wasn’t interested in sparing my life more than he was threatening it. The question was _why_.

            If there was one thing I absolutely _loathed_ it was when someone could hold something over me.

            I sucked in a deep breath through my clenched teeth and growled, “What’s in this for you?”

            He released his grip and wiped his hand on his robe. While he inspected his fingertips, I gingerly rubbed my cheek.

            “Clever girl.” Neloth’s smile eased a fraction. “I only want someone with your power in my house. Telvanni will rise once again and when we do reclaim our influence, it will go unchallenged.”

            Unspoken was, “And I knew you would never agree unless threatened.”

            He knew I wouldn’t because some gods damned student of his helped him put the pieces together for him.

            “ _Fine_ ,” I agreed, still feeling as if he wasn’t giving me the complete truth. I wasn’t one to argue the point though. “The _masks_.”

            Neloth crept back to one of the other tables and grabbed a stack of papers. Rifling through it, he humed and muttered to himself. As he did so, I leaned against the enchanting table. Honestly, I was almost relieved that I wouldn’t have to come back to Mundus after this. I wasn’t sure what Neloth and his student had discussed but it certainly put him on the offensive with me. It was as if he knew something I didn’t. Beyond the obvious, of course.

            “Tell me what _you_ think you know and then I’ll be ready to tell you that you’re wrong,” his voice broke through my thoughts.

            I rolled my eyes. “They’re enchanted, bound with the souls of men. That’s all I could guess.”

            “I’m _impressed_ ; you have it right, although at the very rudimentary level. Tell me, do you know why enchanters are the greatest of all magic users?” I could have beat the smug grin off of his face. “No? Allow me then.

            “Enchanters are above all other schools of magick. Alterationists can just see past reality, but what kind of mage would you be if you couldn’t? Illusionists? Hah! Changing someone’s perception is child’s play. Restore and destroy? How boring must one be? Conjurers are the only ones who can come close to the power of an enchanter. So tell me, black link, why is that?”

            I cringed at the name. Now I was for certain he was mocking me. “Soul manipulation,” I replied curtly. “But some restorationists would argue they have that power.”

            He snorted. “Repairing a dead body so it stumbles about for a few moments is no real work. But I suppose necromancy wasn’t your speciality.”

            My right hand rubbed the back of my marred left one. _May my sinister be sharp and my dexter be broad_. That was what I had asked for when my initial tests were finished and my signs burned into my hands. It was a signature of the College, keeping track of their students. “Necromancy is for the lazy and the perverts.” My thumb ran over the words that glossed over my crimes.

            Neloth tapped his fingers at the papers as he looked down at me, nose high in the air and his lips pursed. “Ha! Did you learn that at Winterhold? It’s one of the few places that condone such practices. You must have been quite along in your education to voice opinions different than your betters’ teachings.”

            “Far enough.” My leg bounced up and down impatiently. “Do you have a point or were you just wanting to give me an introduction to the schools of magic? I know all this already.”

            “Apparently,” he flung the papers in the air and they flew behind him. “You know _nothing._ ”

            “ _I_ know plenty.” My finger jabbed into my own chest as I pushed myself from the table and stomped towards him. “And this?” My arms motioned to his mess of a research area. “This is turning out to be useless.”

            “Oh?” he cocked an eyebrow. “Did that school have a class on the souls of dragons in mortal bodies or did you skip that one?”

            Alright. Maybe he had a point. “Speak plainly.”

            His arrogant grin widened as he strolled around the room, the fingers of one hand dramatically splayed against his chest. “Conjurers, as you seemingly know well, beckon the souls of those living on a chaotic plane. They cannot exist on Mundus for long—it is aedric-bound.”

            Some of this was making sense. “An aedric-created soul is everlasting in a chaotic plane then,” it suddenly dawned on me. “Aedra became stable and so did their creations. Naturally aedric cretures summoned on the aedric plane die because they aren’t bound anymore. It’s simple: I can’t die in Apocrypha because my soul is bound here,” I pointed to the floor. “On Mundus.”

            “And it shows,” Neloth kept pacing around, allowing his finger to drag across tables and gems and whatever else it lazily came across. “Part of you still stays behind on Mundus.”

            I nodded.  

            “Conjurers can only clutch desperately at souls,” his hand thrust outward and grabbed some imaginary thing. “And grasp and grasp but it slips through your fingers. Even a pitiful soul trap doesn’t _bind_. It simply traps.

            “Enchanters though,” he raised his chin and smiled widely with pride, “We can bind and we can _purge_. Great enchanters like myself can bind the power of a soul to even the most _mundane_ of objects. If I wanted to I could enchant this piece of _charcoal_.” Neloth pinched the dark, dusty stick between his index finger and thumb and smiled so his teeth were bared.

            Rolling my eyes, I twirled my index finger in the air. “Yes, yes. _Impressive_.”         

            “But I can also _purge_ —unbind a soul from its coil whisk it away.”

            I squinted. “Purging?”

            Neloth flicked the piece of charcoal toward me and it hit my face. “Oh, I bet you’re not much of an enchanter, are you? Of course you aren’t. The _mighty_ Dragonborn doesn’t question a lot of things, like how my great wizard such as myself was able to know that you were who you are without you telling me.”

            Wait. That couldn’t be correct. Looking down at the floor, I felt my eyes scanning nothing as I searched my mind. Had I not told him I was the Dragonborn? Ever? “That’s impossible. I had to’ve told you.” But even as I argued, I knew I hadn’t.

            “Enchanters aren’t just useless supporters for war mages. For someone like myself, all it takes is a soul like yours to traipse by and I can _smell_ it.”

            My nose crinkled. “Disgusting.”

            “But you aren’t an enchanter,” he asserted. “Just a pathetic facsimile of one—a conjurer.”

            My breathing was slow, deep. I hadn’t realized how unnerved I had become. “I can still enchant weapons—I even enchanted this.” I pulled out my timepiece and held it out to him. I’ve never seen such a look of disdain cross someone’s face before.

            “ _Oh, look_. What a wonder that the only soul you could bind was to something related to time. Can’t imagine dragons having any link to time what with their immortal souls or dragon breaks or—”

            My hand curled around the clock and I jammed it back into my pouch. “Funny. What does _any_ of this have to do with these masks or Miraak?”

            He flung out his robes and stopped pacing. “In short? Souls are indeed bound to these masks. For mortal souls it is no problem to be bound and purged to the plane on which they exist. For those with immortal souls…”

            Neloth let the thought stand there.

            I partially realized what his meaning was there. “As a dragon priest, Miraak had his soul bound to his mask. But the other priests had mortal, aedric souls—he had an aedric, _immortal_ one. It caused problems when Miraak’s bound soul was dragged to Oblivion.”

            He scoffed. “An understatement. An aedric soul that’s immortal then pulled into Oblivion has apparently caused a major disbalance for the soul that was purged from this plane.”

            “Miraak’s.”

            From behind us I heard a nervous coughing. Both Neloth and I turned our attention to Drovas. He had a tray in his hands, eblows close to his side and a look of fear on his face. “M-master Neloth?’

            Neloth clapped but didn’t say a word. Drovas scurried over and presented the tray to him, glancing up at him as Neloth sipped the canis root tea. His lips puckered a little but didn’t immediately toss it back in Drovas’s face. He shooed Drovas away and looked back at me, sipping from his cup. “Miraak’s,” he confirmed. “Now, a soul like yours and like his, well, they aren’t meant to manipulate souls the way enchanters can. Your souls are too crowded, too powerful. In essence, for an immortal soul to master enchanting, you must inhabit an immortal form; a Dragonborn cannot negotiate the gap between their soul and the ones they wish to manipulate. Well, aside from the immortal souls you can take—but that’s a simple trick of absorption.”           

            He took another sip and a deep breath.

            “And why should you be able to master even the simplest of enchanting spells? Dragonborns are simply enchantments on the largest scale possible.” He motioned to the masks. “The dragon priests were simply the dragons’ attempt to mimic what Akatosh had already accomplished.”

            My mind had gone blank. This was beyond my realm of experience.

            “Surely,” Neloth took slow and deliberate steps to a bookshelf and scanned the selection, finally pulling out a heavy bound book, “The College taught you about the Law of Firsts.”

            The Law of Firsts… My instructions were coming back slowly. “It says only one enchantment per object, correct?”

            “An oversimplification, but crude enough.” He waved the book at me. “ _Twin Secrets_. And I quote, ‘The law itself is inviolate. However, the skillful enchanter can weave two enchantments simultaneously into an item. For men and elves, the limit is two. The dragon said that men and elves have two arms, two legs, two eyes and two ears. I asked why that mattered, and the beast just laughed.”

            “Wait,” I shook my head. “That can’t be true. I’ve never seen an object with two enchantments before.”

            “So?” he shrugged and closed the book with his one open palm. “What do _you_ know about enchanting? _Nothing_. Do you know what my research is in? Immortality. My specialty, my _life_ is dedicated to studying souls _like yours_. I happen to know a _little_ something about enchanting.”  

            I could feel my stomach drop as I felt something loom in his words. “Just spit it out already.”

            He took one last sip of his tea. “Miraak can’t return to Mundus without some powerful souls. He cannot return because his immortal Aedric soul was _unable_ to be purged and then bound to a mask. When the dragon’s made him a priest, they obviously knew that doing so would cause a dragon break. An immortal soul cannot be purged in such a manner. When Hermaeus Mora pulled him to Oblivion, the enchantment that bound his soul to his body ceased to be aedric and, now, there’s a new Dragonborn on Mundus. The Last for the rest of eternity.”

            I swallowed, transfixed by the implications.

            “I’m assuming he’s taken all of the souls of the dragons you’ve killed but it’s only to help augment his true goal.”

            “The Law of Firsts,” I whispered. “Miraak is trying to imbue one mortal form with two enchantments, two dragon souls. He can’t return with the form and soul he has so he’s trying to use my soul to bind himself here again.”

            Neloth frowned. “What a pity too. I had thought that you were succumbing to Hermaeus Mora’s madness. Quite disappointing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now down to the last three chapters after this one so now we're getting some answers. Waaaaay back to the chapter Knowledge is Dangerous, I mentioned a few things so we now have some answers:
> 
> 1\. Obviously, Rook has some history with House Telvanni.  
> Remember the flashback with Brelyna Maryon? Canonically, she's part of House Telvanni. So, put that together with what we learn here. Yikes.
> 
> 3\. If Rook's so good at magic, why in the world does she not immediately know how Neloth's lift work?  
> Neloth is a master mage but specifically in enchanting. She literally couldn't tell the spell was there. Technically, Teldryn is more powerful than her at enchantment magic. It's been mentioned before that she's bad at enchanting but now we have an answer as to why: all Dragonborns are bad at it--Rook isn't going mad because she got involved with Hermaeus Mora. She's going mad because Miraak is trying to use her soul and body for enchanting purposes, but, he too (being a Dragonborn) is ALSO bad at enchanting. Yikes.
> 
> 4\. When did Rook tell Neloth she was the Dragonborn?  
> She didn't. 
> 
> Okay, now that that's out of the way, there is still more heavy lore stuff going on, references to books. If you'd like to delve deeper into this stuff, I highly suggest UESP.net or Imperial Library. Most books and lore I research and incorporate is probably through UESP and forums. I like to play within the rules of canon and see if I can tie stuff together--like with explaining why there are two first Dragonborns or tying in the laws of magic set in TES in order to explain stuff going on. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but please ask questions if you ever feel confused by anything!
> 
> And, I wonder who Tristyn is? Not going to be answered in this story but there might be some hinting before it ends. I'll be interested in seeing who you guys think he is. Especially since there's something about him that Neloth isn't telling Rook.
> 
> Also it might be worth reminding that the Aedra are gods such as Akatosh. Again, it might be fun to check out UESP for this kind of stuff. Just know that Aedra can be killed unlike Daedra.
> 
> Okay! Some special thanks to all of the lovely guests who've left kudos. Also, a lot of people on Tumblr have been super fantastic and kind. A special shout out to Tumblr user smilesupbeauty for their kind words, small shout outs to Rook in their writing, and--oh--their horse in Skyrim has been given the honor of being named Rook! All of you readers are absolutely too nice to me! Thank you!
> 
> Next chapter? It's the next to the last one of the story proper (the last two chapters are an epilogue from Rook's POV and Teldryn's POV). It's long. It's lore heavy. The showdown between Rook and Miraak is here. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	42. Amaranth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the climax. This chapter is long. It's chock-full of lore and references to Morrowind and Oblivion. There is one important item to mention here and that's my Heroes for both Morrowind and Oblivion. In the Hero, Event, Prophecy series the Nerevar of Morrowind was an Imperial woman named Raesa Varo. The Hero of Kvatch was a Dunmer man named Galis Theran. These are the Heroes that have come before Rook, those that have created the history she is part of.
> 
> If you've played Shivering Isles and know about certain theories relating to the Hero of Kvatch and their relationship to Sheogorath, then some things will make sense in this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

            The silence was deafening.

            Save for Neloth sipping on his tea and hmming in displeasure every few seconds.

            “No.” That was all that came out of my mouth. And then, “You’re wrong.”

            His head snapped up to look at me and he sneered, “ _What_?”

            Feeling a little emboldened by my accusation, I flew at him with my finger prodding at his chest. “ _You_ just said Dragonborns are absolute shit at enchanting but then in the same breath said that’s _exactly_ what Miraak was attempting.”

            Neloth huffed, “And isn’t it just an absolute botched job? Look at yourself.”

            I examined my palms, ungloved and one of them still marred. I refused to believe Noloth. If Miraak could have this kind of power over me across planes then what hope did I have in Apocrypha to defeat him? I still couldn’t bend the will of dragons with consistent results and every time I was driven into madness it was because of one who was equal to me, not above me. I could accept Hermaeus Mora’s influence causing my decent into insanity. But Miraak’s? No. Impossible.

            “If Miraak had _my_ sort of skill, your soul would have been mine long ago. Instead it appears as if he’s channeling some of Hermaeus Mora’s power to do so—”

            “—but _you_ said this _was_ Hermaeus,” I continued to prod. His hands didn’t move from the cup of tea. “You _poked_ and _prodded_ and _asserted_ that _this_ ,” I motioned to my head and then threw my hands down, defeated, “You _said_ I was going mad because of a Daedric Prince. I mean, every time I went into Apocrypha I felt better and it lessened the damage here.” My voice was starting to crack just thinking of everything I had been through, everything I had done to get to this moment. Teldryn crossed my mind for a moment.

            All Neloth did was shrug. “But now I’m right. And I’m certain that he is a poor excuse of an enchanter. Whatever knowledge he’s found in Apocrypha seems to be limited to use on Mundus. In Oblivion he has no power.”

            All I said to Neloth was, “It just can’t be.” My mind raced, my hands shook.

            “But it is.” He placed the empty tea cup on an enchanting table. Staring at me, his severe red eyes searched my face.

            I wasn’t sure what to say because he was right. This was the way things were; however, the realization slowly dawned on me that my fate wasn’t quite sealed yet. “All I have to do is defeat him. If I fell him then I can have my life back here on Tamriel.”

            “Yes, yes,” Neloth rolled his eyes. “What an absolute surprise, a Hero who overcomes the impossible. The Nerevarine was the same. I suppose all Heroes are the same in that respect.”

            My eyes widened. “You knew the Nerevarine?”      

            He laughed. “Oh, yes. An Imperial woman as I recall.”

            “What?” I shook my head. “You mean a Dunmer.”

            “Oh, you were there now were you? The irony that you would think as such when you’re not a Nord.”

            And I knew he had a good point—who was I to question such things? The knowledge that I _wasn’t_ doomed became coupled with a steady and quiet indignation that threatened to burst into flames. I needed to finish this. My intuition told me that if I waited any longer then my faculties might suffer more and I wouldn’t be able to recover.

            “I need a place to stay, make sure that if I return I won’t be bombarded by whatever’s out there,” my hand waved in the general location of the outside. “And my masks.” There was no way I was facing Miraak without at least one of those.

            He laughed again. “Well, luckily for you, as a member of House Telvanni we have a room for you.” His steps took him to a table where my masks lay and he shoved them into my hands.

            I cringed. “ _Fine_.” Jamming the masks into my pouch, I commanded, “Just show me.”

            Clasping his hands, Neloth’s smile was sinister and thin. “ _Wonderful_. Simply wonderful.” His robes swished this way and that as they made contact with the floor, the dry sound a little grating in the silence and mess of the room. “But I must warn you that should you and your little heroic antics _do_ bring you to Miraak, simply killing him won’t be enough. If you can’t die on Apocrypha, neither can he—both the very definition of aedric souls.”

            “I gathered.” I followed him to a door of gnarled roots. “I’ll figure something out.”

            His long, bony hand reached out and opened the door. When I peered inside I frowned. The shallow space held a broom and there were some empty bottles strewn about the floor.

            “Neloth, this is a closet—” was all I was able to get out before he pushed me in. I hit the wall of the farside of the cramped closet and he blocked the exit.

            “Yes, well, on the _off_ chance,” he made sure to make it sound like he didn’t think it was such a slim chance, “that you aren’t as powerful as you think you are, I don’t want to see your face crowding my beautiful lab space every day. Oh, sure the first day it might be interesting to see if I can move your link to Mundus around but I would get so terribly _bored_. At least this way I can hide you.”

            As my mouth opened to protest, Neloth grinned widely and finished with, “Welcome to House Telvanni,” and slammed the door.

            I could have just opened the door but I really didn’t feel like it. It just meant more arguing with Neloth and—if I was honest with myself—I had nowhere else to go.

            Almost laughing at the thought, there was something painful that rose to the surface. The revelation that I could go nowhere else was such a familiar pain that I felt my breathing quicken, my pulse race. This was the only place I had: a gods damned closet in some mad wizard’s overgrown mushroom. The closet and the darkness was feeling even more cramped, like something clamping against my throat. Suddenly the thought crossed my mind that I didn’t _have_ to be here.

            I had put myself here. Alone.

            There was a house in Raven Rock I could have stayed in. There were plenty of houses in plenty of places. None of them felt like somewhere I could turn though. Guilds and Brotherhoods and Companions—they were all things I could claim but I didn’t feel connected to any of it. The lingering feeling of detachment was just so overwhelming—

            “Stop this,” I chastised myself. This was a line of thinking I thought was long dead but being trapped in a broom closet was bringing it to the surface. “Cry over spilt ale after you’ve killed Miraak and dragged his bloody corpse across Oblivion.”

            Such horrible, awful thoughts that I had not experienced in so long. I shook my head and then clasped my marred hand. Predictably, the fine webbing and the mark glowed when I threw a candlelight spell over myself.

            The closet wasn’t any more hospitable with light shining in it. If anything, it only highlighted how disgusting it was with sticky dust trapped in disregarded cobwebs lining the ceiling and the corners.

            “Charming,” I mumbled to myself as I rummaged around my pouch for all the Black Books I had collected. “One day they’ll be singing songs about how the Dragonborn saved Solstheim from a closet. My life is truly blessed.”

            When I was certain I had all of the tomes, I spread them out in front of me on the floor. I wasn’t quite sure which one I might find Miraak in—my best guess was _Waking Dreams_ where I had encountered him before. Picking it up, I sighed. I left the other books on the floor. If Neloth wanted them he was more than welcome to collect. No point in taking them with me.

            _Waking Dreams_ lay closed in my hands. Even with my urging I couldn’t bring myself to open it. This wasn’t the same as when I faced Alduin. There had been the first dragon and the second and the third and so on. Alduin just felt like one that I had to work harder to find and kill. Miraak though…

            There were still too many questions unanswered and it all related to me being Dragonborn.

            My body knew what I needed to do before my mind did. One hand flipped open a page and my eyes scanned the familiar words, albeit now finding new meaning within them:

_The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of though._

_The rest is vulgar fiction…_

* * *

 

            My nerves were on edge, electricity shooting through them like a shock spell.

There had been nothing. Absolutely _nothing._

No lurkers, no seekers. Just eerie silence and the familiar bubbling of whatever was seething about around me. The discomfort was unsettling. Even the papers flying here and there made no noise save for some gentle fluttering that seemed out of place. I recognized the area where I had first met Miraak but there was nothing else that could pique my interest at this point. My focus was clear.

            _May my sinister be sharp and my dexter broad._ I looked down at the back of my left hand and frowned at the knowledge of what was hiding behind my glove.  

            Again, eerie silence. Which left me disturbingly alone with my own thoughts. My arm outstretched so that my fingers could run across the labyrinth of bookstacks that towered so high above my head that I couldn’t see the murky green sky above me. Not that I need to observe it to know what it looked like—the place was burned into my memory like a brand.

            I didn’t know how to parse what Neloth had told me. Maybe he was right about my soul not being able to handle enchanting. I had always been bad at enchanting. And now I knew why: I was Dragonborn. The details didn’t matter at this point.

            The gist was if I killed Miraak, all my problems would disappear.

            _Kill one person, and you can solve so many problems._

How many times had I taken those words, a child’s words, to comfort me at night while I slept? How many times had that been my _sole_ purpose?

            Kill this dragon, kill that dragon. Kill Alduin. Kill Miraak.

            _Well, well. Aren't we the overachiever?_

Another voice from my past. It was more than unsettling, the way things were falling into place. As if I could suddenly see my entire life spread out before me, the pieces connected to one another easily. What I once thought to be a series of haphazard events seemed to begin to have rhyme and reason—if only vaguely. But I had to do quite the mental acrobatics to make sense of it. I was probably over-thinking things. Being here in Apocrypha did that. All this knowledge in one place made me overly pensive.

            Shaking my head, I tried to convince myself, “Stop making a mountain out of a speck of dust.”

            That didn’t prevent the thoughts from eating at me though.

            Instead, I tried to focus on where I was at. The labyrinth had opened up and I could now clearly see the endless sky streatching above me, swirling in some kind of thick, sieve-like fashion with the clouds thinning out as they spiraled inward. The sea of black tendrils also spread out across for as far as the eye could see with the long, spindly appendages reaching out to whatever attracted their attention.

            Then my eyes flew to a set of steps, rising up to a platform with a pedestal. Looming in the background were impossibly high towers. I tried my best not to think of the stacks upon stacks of books that spilled out from underneath them. It was an unsettling thought, wondering how _deep_ those stacks ran. How far did they extend into the murky blackness? What kind of power held them in place?

            Despite my best intentions, my feet continued to walk toward the pedestal.

            One part of me attempted to convince myself that I didn’t need to be here, that I could just implore Neloth for help. That I could stay on Nirn.

            Another part of me kept whispering, “There’s something you don’t know. Some truth. Keep digging, keep searching.”

            Letting out the breath I had been holding, I met with the book at the top of the stairs. I settled my eyes on some line of floating text weaving in and out in such a hypnotic fashion, as if watching a fish lazily swimming in a pond. In and out and in and out and in and…

* * *

 

            … and suddenly I was in an enclosed area of Apocrypha.

            “Wonderful,” I muttered to myself. “It can’t be as simple as, ‘Here I am, Miraak. Let me hand your arse to you.’”

            Looking upward, my stomach dropped. The steps just scaled upward and upward. Bu dutifully I climbed. On one platform I found a table with a copy of _The Guardian and the Traitor_ and I couldn’t stifle my laughter.

            Holding it up, I screamed to the sky or to anyone who might be listening, “Is this a _joke_? Hermaeus? Is this _your_ doing? Or is it yours Miraak? Here’s what I think of your jest!” And I hurled it into the boggy blackness that pulsated below.

            But I kept climbing. I continued to move upward.

            _They say that the climb is over seven thousand steps._

            And my foot scaled another step.

            Even looking overhead, I could tell that I would have to climb a great deal more.

            I heard something rustle and my back went flat against a wall. Scanning for whatever made the noise, I found a seeker perusing a stack of books. Not even wanting to bother with such a welcome distraction, my hands flew to my bow and nocked an arrow.

            “Stay still,” I mouthed and let my arrow release. It found its target but didn’t completely destroy it. The seeker’s face popped up in the directon of the arrow, readying some spell in its hand.

            Before it could release its force, I loosed another arrow and that one ended it.

            I traversed the narrow fairway to its remains but found nothing particularly interesting.

            Still, I kept my bow readied with an arrow in my other hand.

            One latticed bridge over the black waters and I was met with another set of steps.

            _They call the path to the monastery the Seven Thousand Steps. Can you imagine? I'm not certain if I could even make it to the top without collapsing from exhaustion._

I shook my head again. All these words given to me by others, all teasing me, haunting me.

            “So which one of you is it?” I called out again to the empty sky. “But why should it matter, both of you as thick as thieves.”

            And I just _had_ to laugh at that cruel joke. _Thick as thieves but I’m watered down, barely there while Brynjolf takes the credit._

            My foot hit the last step and my eyes flew to a book on a pedestal.

            “Hello there, sweet roll,” I cooed at it mockingly. “ _Boneless Limbs_. I bet _you’re_ just a page turner.” My hand flipped it open and to the first page, my finger tracing the words line by line. “ _Burn the mind, reveal the quick._ Well, if this isn’t just _screaming_ at me to hold onto it, I don’t know any better sign,” I mumbled to myself, stuffing it into my pouch.

            When I found a dead end, I had to retrace my steps in order to find a latticed doorway, fine webs of some unknown material weaving in and out.

            Despite the wretched smell and the sickening sight, the view was overwhelming. The platform overlooked the seemingly infinite expanse of black water illuminated by green. Arches and towers and stacks upon stacks of books stood tall across the horizon.

            And of course, another book waited for me so I read as the script wove in and out of itself, like a weaver at the loom. One thread over another and then another and then another and…

* * *

 

            …and very quickly, everything became very cramped and extremely uncomfortable. The heat and stickiness from the hallway of books that I now found myself in had low ceilings and even narrower walls that seemed to close in on themselves.

            I hadn’t even taken a few steps inside when I heard something stirring about. I readied my arrow and did my best to use the webbed walls to gain a vantage point over the seeker who hadn’t noticed me yet. When I loosed the arrow around the corner, it found its mark and this time the seeker went down with no fight. Just as I was ready to move on, a large force hit me from behind and winded me as I stumbled forward.

            My hand humbled for an arrow, nocked it. The first time I missed. My feet moved to one side and then the next. Attempting to avoid it at this close of range was dangerous. I nocked a second and it found a part of the seeker, just not the vulnerable part. Thrice more and an arrow finally came through for me—the seeker’s remains simply crackled a bit before its tattered robes collapsed on top of it.

            It left me a little breathless but none the worse for wear.

            My legs carried me around and then up another set of steps where I found another aged book laying atop a pedestal.

            Reaching out for it, I read aloud, “ _Delving Pincers_?” As I rummaged through the book, I yelled over my shoulder, “Well, whichever of you is responsible, you’re doing a _top notch_ job at keeping me occupied.” My fingers turned the corner of a page as I contined to read. “Really though, I do appreciate the warm welcome but you could have done more.” Another page turned. “Maybe something like a few lurkers, just to keep it exciting. “

            When I found myself walking around in circles, I realized one of the walls was actually a door. Activating the scrye I found in the center of the room, my sense of balance became slightly useless as the wall in front of me elongated, stretched impossibly forward while the bookstacks expanded.

            As I continued to watch my steps, my mind wandered back to Neloth’s words. Miraak’s soul couldn’t be bound to his mask because it would cause… what had he called it? A _dragon break_. The phrase sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it. I stopped in my tracks.

            Why did I trust Neloth in the first place?

            Even _Drovas_ knew he was mad.

            But his words still had some truth in them. It was Hevnoraak and that Nord who bound himself to the priest that _really_ put my trust in Neloth’s conjectures.

            I continued onward, onto a series of walkways high above the ground. Glancing down, I recognized the area as where I had begun. My feet stepped about aimlessly—it was too quiet for my liking and my mind was wandering down too many paths.

            The Nord that bound himself… what was it he had said to me?

            _My strength is failing._

            Didn’t that make sense though after everything Neloth had told me?

            “One aedric soul binding themselves to another. If both fade on Mundus then it wouldn’t have worked,” I mused aloud. “And it didn’t. The Nord couldn’t hold on forever.”

            That Nord had been called a guardian as well. Much like Vahlok.

            Perhaps the reason the Nord had been granted release from his eternal duty was because I killed Hevnoraak. Vahlok was allowed to pass on because Miraak was an aedric soul bound daedrically.

            “What does that even mean?” The thought had come from my head and they sounded like my words, but I didn’t relize I had that kind of knowledge.

            As if suddenly awakening, I found myself in an alcove with a giant, toothed encasement. Frowning, resignation took over and I went about prying the thing open. For all I knew there was something interesting inside.

            _You just can’t leave things be can you?_ Mercer’s voice broke through the silence.

            Despite the interruption, I yanked open the vessel and groaned as I found a stack of books inside. Upon further examination, I found something funny about them.

            “ _Nerevar Moon and Star_? _The Oblivion Crisis? The Dragon Break Reexamined_?” My hands fumbled through them clumsily. “This has to be some sort of joke.”

            “A joke!” A voice behind me jerked me out of my reverie as I dropped the books and readied a fire spell in my hand. “A fine, fine jest on the favorite dearie of the dragons and the all the mortals and, well, just about anyone who’d gut you and play skip the rope with your entrails. My, my, my, wouldn’t _that_ be a _fine_ game to play on such a _fine_ day such as this?”

            It had been a very long time since I had been shocked. “Sheogorath?” the name almost wordlessly dropped from my lips. “But… this is…”

            The smile on his face was lackadaisical, sloppy.  Despite his pathwork clothing of colors that clashed loudly, his form appeared immaculate—the Mad God’s bolt of silver hair was brushed back stylishly and his hands rested on a cane that looked like it was embedded with gold teeth. “Apocrypha? Why of course this is, my serpentine lady.” He outstretched his hand and bowed, wordlessly asking for mine.

            I cringed as I reluctantly handed it to him. As he bent and licked the back of the gloved palm, I had to ask, “How?”

            “Almost as delicious as fine aged cheese! Is that netch leather? My, oh!” Sheogorath stretched out his crooked elbow. Sighing, I knew better than to fight him so I gave into the trivial gesture and linked my arm with his. “Shall we?” he pointed his cane in the direction behind us. “Boring, boring, booooring,” he drolled as I tried to keep in step with him. “Old Mora really needs to do some redecorating. What think you of red? Hmm? I’m thinking the blood of _at least_ ten thousand elves and that would be a good start. I could paint your gloriously marred face right there!” His cane pointed to the sky.

            As we crossed on the high path, I noticed that while my feet were on somewhat solid ground he was walking in midair. I rolled my eyes. “I thought your realm was the Shivering Isles. Are you even _allowed_ to be here?”

            Sheogorath patted my hand sympathetically and cooed at me, “My, how you remind me of myself at a young age, skipping about like a puppy in Oblivion, asking questions I shouldn’t be.”       

            Without warning, he swung his cane around and smacked my forehead.

            “Ow!” I yanked my arm away and tenderly rubbed the knot that was forming.

            “Now then, about the cheese,” his voice suddenly took on a somber tone.

            Gods, I forgot how much I hated talking to Sheogorath. “ _What cheese?_ ”

            As we passed by another pedestal with a book, he pointed to it, “But make sure to pick that fragrant flower because you could eat it.” I snatched the book and read _Prying Orbs_ on its spine. “My, my, my dearie, what a fine mess of kittens we have here, you in Apocrypha. But why would Mora Mora be so bored-a, bored-a to want you lilting about up and down?”

            We crossed more empty hallways with stacks of rotting books for walls. “Really now? You come _all the way_ across Oblivion to to visit this wretched place?”

            He laughed, “ _Wretched?_ Why, look around you!” He twirled, the tails of his coat swinging about his thighs. “The sunshine, oh and the fresh mountain breeze, and ah! The butterflies,” he motioned to a few lazy loose pages floating about. “Aaaaah, yes, dark lady, quite the day. I tricked Baar Dau you know, made it crash into Vivec. _I_ know something about beauty.”

            I winced but something about his words sounded familiar. Teldryn had told me that story, hadn’t he? But it wasn’t quite the same.

            Sheogorath pushed back his hair and cackled, “Or was I here to visit you? I remember packing the cheese in my luggage and then I had Haskill tie up the rocks but then I _ate_ that torte… maybe this is a nightmare?” He giggled again. “A nightmare to remember, serpent girl!”

            When we came to a larger alcove with another book, I frowned. “Sheogorath, I _don’t_ have the time for this…”

            “Ah ha ha! Yes! _Madness_ , I remember now.” The Mad God slapped my backside and I shrieked a little. “But c’mon now, dear, let’s see where this nightmare falls.”

            This was concerning. More than concerning really. Not only was I in Hermeaus Mora’s realm looking for Miraak but now Sheogorath had come to call on me for some damned reason. There wasn’t any fighting his power though—when the Mad God wanted attention, he made sure that he would have it.

            “ _Fine_.” I looked toward the book and tried to make sense of the symbols and the Daedric letters floating about lazily like dust caught in a ray of sun. My mind felt blank as I watched them float around and around and around and…

* * *

 

            …and then there was another sharp smack of Sheogorath’s cane to the back of my thighs.

            “Up and awake, dear! Tea? Cheese?”

            I blinked. Surely my eyes were playing tricks on me.

            “Sheogorath?” Only he didn’t look like a Man anymore—he looked like a Dunmer.

            “Sheogorath?” he repeated my question, smiling. “Come now, we’ve almost finished with Mora’s drab, unimaginative game.”

            I kept looking up at him but continued to stay vigilant. There had been hardly anything guarding this area. Maybe it _was_ a game. “Sheogorath,” my voice attempted to sound stern. “Why are you here?”         We were on an open platform, with steps leading downward. He began the decent first.

            “Bah! Pelly’s mind was getting so dreadfully boring,” He drug his smile down into a pitiful looking frown. “‘Oh, woe is me! How could I ever outshine Martin Septim? Woe, woe, woe…’” he grinned again, swinging his cane in front of me so that I stopped. “But didn’t you miss me?”

            Groaning, I slapped my hand to my forehead. Hoping to get _something_ from him, I grasped, “The _cheese_ , Sheogorath. The _cheese_.”

            And just as quickly his look turned pensive and he nodded somberly. “Now that's the real question, isn't it? Because honestly, how much time off could a demented Daedra really need?”

            My foot met with another step and then another. I made the mistake of asking, “So I’m guessing you heard I was going mad?”       

            “Mad? _You?_ ” he laughed as he skipped off, twirling around with his feet dancing this way and that. As he used his cane as a dance partner, he twirled back to me and pushed me. “I would watch your step!”

            I was able to step out of the path of a spell that flew at me just barely as I saw a familiar shift of light that I knew to be an invisible seeker. Not wanting to lose another second I threw a fireball at it. My left foot stepped behind the right and my right pivoted as I dropped to a knee and hurled another.

            As the form became corporeal, its robes floated into some of the bubbling, dark waters. My chest rose. My chest fell.

            There was some enthusiastic clapping behind me.

            “The empire for a god! My dear, _that_ is why I think you are worth your weight in cheese. Pelly was never capable of taking such punishment. I’d throw him into a pit of snarling wolves and he would crouch in a corner and cry. Kept screaming on about some queen of wolves. Or was it a king of goats?” He threw his cane into the air and laughed again. “But, then that’s why you’re the Hero.”

            Sheogorath grabbed one of my hands and threw his arm around my waist, his hand hitting the buckle of my quiver and the sheath of my sword. “What?” was what I barely got out before he twirled me around as another seeker flew by. I stumbled over my feet momentarily before regaining my footing.

            “Ah… yes!” His now red eyes shone with foolishness. Sheogorath threw his back raven black hair as he swung me again. “This does _so_ remind me of the Arena,” he laughed.

            Another seeker appeared, a strange reverberating noise echoing throughout the stacks. Sheogorath continued to sway this way and that. I didn’t bother protesting, didn’t try and tell him that I couldn’t dance. Instead he let me step on his toes, trip over my own. There was no possible way to aim so instead I summoned a flame atronach as Sheogorath guided me down the stairs, the winding paths.

            Behind me I heard the wooshing sound of fire, another crackle of death.

            He giggled again. “I came to see how my history was turning out. It has been _so maddening,_ hasn’t it?”         

            Tripping again, his arm kept me upright. “What in Oblivion are you _talking about_?”

            I heard my atronach fizzle out so I threw another.

            Instead of answering me, he continued to step this way and that, humming something nonsensical.

            “ _Sheogorath_ ,” I hissed, half-breathlessly. Tripping again, he laughed at my clumsiness.

            We continued to dance down a hallway, down another. At one point the hallway continued to shrink on itself but he was able to dance past it, through it and the next thing I knew another corridor was stretching out. I was becoming nauseatingly dizzy.

            “Watch your feet, dearie!” he cackled again.

            Almost falling over some stairs, I caught myself and looked down, heeding his advice. _Gods, is that what I do with my feet_?

            It reminded me of all the times Teldryn would laugh at the way I handled a sword and comment, “It’s your footwork.”

            “Up and two and one and down!” Sheogorath swung me up by my hips onto the platform that held another pedestal with yet another book. As he released me, I snatched _Gnashing Blades_ and turned to see him using a soul gem to comb his hair.

            “Once again,” I growled, becoming more than frustrated. My feet hurt more than a little. “ _Why are you here_?”

            His nose turned upward in the air, he tossed me a haughty look and snorted. “Do you mind? I'm busy doing the _fishstick_. It's a very delicate state of mind!” The soul gem parted his lustrous, thick hair.

            I preferred it when he was torturing Pelagius. “If you’re going to continue to hinder me, then just begone.” My hand waved off into the sky.

            Sheogorath frowned. And then he laughed. “Why would I leave when there’s a storm in Oblivion? We haven’t had such frightful weather since… well, since Martin Septim! Dragons always bring about the most gruesome of fits.”

            I’d had enough. Stomping off down the stairs, I cursed at him. He wasn’t following me.

            “Good,” I mumbled.

            Just as I took another step, I ran into Sheogorath who was tapping his cane on the ground.

            “How rude! What about our party?”

            My eyes widened and I threw up my hands. “I give up!” Brushing past him, he grabbed my arm.

            “You know what he said to me?” It was a little strange but there was a tone of sanity underneath his words. I’d never heard the Mad God even _pretend_ to sound sane.  

            I didn’t answer but continued to stare into his red eyes.

            “‘You misinterpret the meaning of what Elder Scrolls are in the colloquial Tamrielic. When taken in this context, to “write an Elder Scroll” is “to make history.” A deeper meaning is meant, too, but not very many laymen bother with that. Until a prophecy is fulfilled, the true contents of an Elder Scoll are malleable, hazy, uncertain. Only by the Hero's action does it become True. The Hero is literally the scribe of the next Elder Scroll, the one in which the prophecy has been fulfilled into a fixed point, negating its precursor.’” It wasn’t Sheogorath’s voice—it was someone else’s. My heartbeat quickened and my pulse raced. The words came out of his mouth but he sounded like someone else entirely, someone older and more finished.

            Sheogorath laughed again, tugging at the sleeve of his mismatched coat. Quickly he leaned down to my ear and whispered, “The _maddest_ thought in the world is that one could steal an Elder Scroll.”

            And just like that he vanished.

            But inside my mind I heard his voice hiss, “But you know something about madness now, don’t you?” And then laughter. “A change is coming. Everything changes. Even Daedric Princes. _Especially_ Daedric Princes.”

            The thought my my skin crawl and my stomach churned.

            “What in the gods’ names was that about?” I wondered to no one in particular.

            From behind me I heard something bubble. I spun around.

            _Lurker_.

            Its arm swung and a whip flung at me, catching my legs and causing me to fall flat on my back.

            My preference was to fight anyway—all that Elder Scroll talk was nonsense to me at this point. It wasn’t going to help me kill Miraak. One hand reared back and threw out Arniel as I scrambled to get to my feet. The lurker, however, didn’t let up. One foot slammed down and I wobbled on my already unsteady legs.

            This wasn’t the time to relent.

            Behind me, my foot drew a wide circle and I stepped out, throwing ice into it. Trap runes weren’t particularly strong but I didn’t want to stay in one spot.  My feet swung around and I drew another circle, threw more ice. The lurker howled some sort of sick, wet sound and hurled itself back into whatever pool of black muck it had emerged from. An explosion of tenacles reached out and my first rune caught the tentacle that was directing itself at me.

            Arniel was doing his absolute best, but I flicked my hand and a storm atronach took form. Hurriedly, I pulled out the first priest mask I could find: Volsung.

            Not entirely helpful but I wasn’t going to complain.

            Sliding my bow from my shoulders, I nocked an arrow from my quiver and loosed it. Then another and then another. I backed against a wall, hearing the commotion behind me.

            One more breath in. I turned and loosed another arrow into its neck.

            The body fell like a stone into the waters and some of it splashed on me, small tentacles writhing like leeches on my skin. Peeling them off, my feet carried on. With Arniel and the atronach behind me, electricity hummed through the air. Down one corridor, to the left and to the right. When we came upon a table, a book caught my eye.

            “ _Oht_ ,” I identified the symbol on the cover. A conjuration book. When I opened it, the symbols were a little confusing at first.

            No advanced conjuration book was written using Tamrielic alphabet. That was the real difference in skill with conjuration students. It was easy to tell which students were stuck in one place because of skill and those which were stuck because they had no skill with the Daedric alphabet.

            _More like no skill in studying_.

            I almost cried hearing Brelyna’s voice in my mind. Neloth had been wrong. She had been no conjurer—that’s what her family wanted. All her alteration and illusion skills had been ignored because of her family’s expectations.

            “Arniel, stop moaning, I can’t concentrate.” My eyes looked over the text. “A seeker? Now _that_ is interesting. Good night, atronach.” With a flick of my wrist the atronach exploded and a seeker appeared in its place. “Maybe I should have spent my time in Apocrypha more wisely.”

            Behind me a scrye glowed. I gingerly touched it and heard a door open from the area where the lurker had fell. Making my way back, I crossed the threshold and climbed the stairs and found yet another book with more swirling text flying in and out and in and…

* * *

 

            …and Apocrypha suddenly seemed muted.

            “Well,” the word bounced off the walls of books.

            I took careful steps down another corridor, cramped uncomfortably with books. With Arniel and the seeker behind me, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

            It was strange how used I had become to that stupid mercenary and his ramblings.

            When I turned a corner, I found Sheogorath kicking some books off a table. This time, he looked like a Man again.

            “Oh, dearie, look at you, take that mask off.” His hand snatched it off my face and I unsuccessfully swiped at him. “You do know how that does so _bother_ me. Now,” he hopped down and patted the seat next to him. “You and I aren’t finished.”

            I eyed him suspiciously but sat down next to him anyway, throwing some books onto the floor. As I looked out the narrow doorway near us, a green column of spiraling light filled my vision. “What? You weren’t done going on about cheese?”

            The Mad God cackled again before smacking my thigh. Hard. I winced but he continued, “It seems that old Mora is having the same problems I had back in the Third Era. Was that me? Or was that myself?”

            Involuntarily I inhaled sharply. “I don’t care _which_. What’s the problem? Miraak?”

            Sheogorath’s hands waved wildly to the side. “Your _circle partner_ , serpent girl, what does it matter? I want to _help_ you.” His smile was anything but innocent.

            “What’s the catch?” My legs swung back and forth like I was chatting with an old friend.

            “Look at _you,_ ” he reached over and pinched my cheek. I swatted at him but he didn’t remove his hands. “That’s what I like about you, always wondering what’s underneath the flowery words. Was that Mephala who taught you that trick? Or maybe the trolls?”

            Recklessly, I grabbed his wrist. The action was rewarded with a hard slap to my face.

            “Oh, dearie, look what you made me do.” Sheogorath frowned as I gingerly rubbed at my cheek. “But you really did deserve it. Now listen. All you need to know is that Miraak was never a Hero. Not like you, _hmm_?” A smile blossoming across his face again, he mussed at my hair.

            I sighed. “What in Oblivion does _that_ matter?”        

            Holding his head in both hands in mock sympathy, Sheogorath whined, “ _Oh, look at me. The stupid Dragonborn. I don’t know what it means to be a Hero_.” Suddenly serious, he tossed back his hair and he was the Dunmer again. “Back in _my_ day I knew what being a Hero meant.”

            The look across my face couldn’t have been anything less than utter confusion. “Alright then…” I began slowly. “Miraak wasn’t a Hero. How’s that help me?”

            “Dearie, dearie, dearie,” he took both of my hands in both of his and sighed. “Wake up and smell the cheese tortes. Heroes _don’t have destinies._ So if he isn’t one…”

            The realization didn’t seem overly important. “Then he has a destiny. So what? What I’m wondering is what you want in return for this morsel of useless knowledge.” I yanked my hands back. Looking back at the column of light, I almost _felt_ close to something, something old and powerful.

            “Oh, nothing much,” his wide, toothy smile leered at me. “You just ask old Mora one thing.”

            “ _What?_ ” I grabbed Volsung’s mask from beside Sheogorath. “I’ve not seen Hermaeus since… well, not for a long while. All I’ve been tasked with is killing Miraak. What makes you think he’ll speak to me outside of that command and his Summoning Day?”

            Sheogorath made his lips pout and widened his eyes. “You just bat those pretty lashes of yours and blow him a few kisses in that charming manner that you do and you _scream_ , ‘What about the Last Dragonborn?’ The rest will fall easily.”

            This wasn’t making any sense. I had spent a good chunk of time indulging the Mad God in his ramblings but none of this was helping me. “Gods _damn_ , Sheogorath—”

            He clapped his hands, “—oh, _lovely_ , you do know what’s at stake. Let’s hope that I’m going to have a good time. Now then,” he patted my head like a dog, “Don’t let that self-loathing get to you.”

            He snapped his fingers and was gone again.

            I was beginning to think that I had just gone completely mad. Hopping off the table, I groaned. Maybe I could avoid this all together.

            “Hermaeus Mora!” I put both hands to my mouth and shouted. “You let the Mad God run around here often? Hmm?” Still walking toward the green light and the cross-section of precariously high bridges, I screamed again, “So, what _about_ the Last Dragonborn, hmm?”

            Unsurprisingly, I was met with silence.

            Before I could step out onto the latticed catwalk, both Arniel and the seeker rushed ahead of me to investigate something. While they were busy taking turns at felling another seeker, I took careful steps to the pedestal with a pair of teeth embossed in slick, black material.

            “Really, Hermaeus. Or Miraak. Whichever of you is having me run around like a mouse in a maze.” I pulled out _Gnashing Blades_ and slammed it on the pedestal. “You could have made it a _tad_ bit harder.”

            Glancing down turned out to be a mistake—I wasn’t usually afraid of heights but the swirling and suspended collection of papers and books scattered about here and there made me dizzy. Soft bits of glowing orbs floated about and the black, tendril-filled waters seethed below.

            “Stop,” I commanded myself. I took slow and deliberate steps around to the other pedestals that seemed to be placed purposefully around the column of light. I was beginning to wonder if this was one of Sheogorath’s tricks. The pedestals were obvious tells for which book went where. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was _off_. Hermaeus Mora wouldn’t have allowed Sheogorath to come to Apocrypha—especially to talk to me. The Mad God has his own agenda. What had he said? He wanted to see how his history turned out? Either a clue or more lunacy. Hard to tell with Sheogorath.

            When the last book was placed, the green column glowed brighter and I could see another book at the foot of the column. This felt very final.

            I couldn’t have walked any slower to the book. When my eyes focused on one ribbon of text, my breathing became uneven and I noticed I was shaking. Closing my eyes, I attempted to calm myself. “ _Drem Yol Lok, Drem Yol Lok…_ you do not fear. You are the one they fear.”

            My hands steadied. My chest rose and fell softly.

            “Miraak,” I whispered to the book and with words I didn’t know I had told it, “ _Hi fen aus._ ”

            _You will suffer_.

            And I read the ribbons that tied themselves into knots and into smaller knots and…

* * *

 

            …and it was too quiet. The books crowding around me were beginning to make me uncomfortable. I could see through a gap that there was an opening close by. I rounded the corner and climbed upward. The only glance I had before Arniel and the seeker attacked were the ruminations of two seekers at what looked like a word wall. But it couldn’t be.

            Staying back, I loosed an arrow into one and moved to one side, loosing another. The seeker I had conjured fell and Arniel was moaning more frequently. One more arrow and then another, I kept moving around so my body wouldn’t be disadvantaged by staying in one place. When the last one fell, only Arniel remained but barely.

            The word wall was disturbing. The chants of Nords in the wall sounded off. It was as if there was only one voice singing against the writing. It was a giant scroll with dragon language scrawled in blood. The etchings wove in and out like the words in the Black Books. I realized that this was Miraak’s doing. This wall was his own attempt to create a _thu’um_.

            Despite the fact that the thought made me leery, I stepped forward none the less and the process felt familiar. My hand rose to meet the most prominent word, the one that stood still.

            “ _Diiv_ ,” the sound rolled across my tongue and I knew where I had heard it before.

            _This_ was the last word that I had been looking for the entire time on Solstheim, the one Miraak said was the true aspect of dragons and Dragonborns. Before I could use it, a familiar roar rang out through the sky.

            “ _Shit_.” My eyes flew upward but couldn’t see anything.

            As if to answer me a stream of ice spewed out beside me and I _ran_. The only place to hide was back where I had come from so I flew down and took cover behind a wall. The dragon was one of the ugly ones, like the one Miraak had tamed and rode.

            He was a lot bigger than I remembered dragons being.

            As he landed, the ground quaked beneath me. Arniel meekly gave his best effort but was soon bested. When I turned and loosed an arrow into his eye, the beast didn’t even blink. His eyes did have a familiar looking sheen to them and it reminded me of when I bent the will of the dragon that nearly killed Teldryn.

            “Miraak’s enthralled you,” I whispered to it before turning my back against the wall again. My heart nearly flew from my chest. As loathe as I was to use the words, the only way to break this creature’s will was to _return_ it to him first. “I’ll fix that,” I promised and flew out to meet it.

            Before it could open its mouth, I reared back and with all the force I could muster shouted, “ _GOL… HAH DOV_!”

            I had braced myself for the usual violent repurcussion but the shout came out just as easily as any other _thu’um_. Of course. If Miraak had been taking the dragon souls that were mine and trying to take _my_ soul as well, why should I have been able to use newly learned words across a plane? He had been pulling my strings and my power this entire time.

            The dragon snapped at first but then shook its head.

            “Hail, _Thuri_ ,” it greeted me.

            “You know who I am then?” I kept my bow in one hand, an arrow nocked and ready to loose.

            “ _Zu’u Sahrotaar, Thuri._ And all the _Dov_ that Miraak has trapped on this plane know your name. It is one without honor but it is yours.”    

            My hands didn’t relax against either of my weapons. “You serve Miraak.” A statement, not a question.

            Sahrotaar didn’t disagree. “All the dragons here have been caged for far too long on this plane to be any stronger. We are weak. But I can take you to Miraak. Your _thu’um_ has mastery but not in the way his does. Climb and we shall fly.”

            To say I was reluctant was an understatement but when I looked around I realized there was nowhere else to go _but_ up. I sheathed the arrow back in the quiver, threw my bow back over my shoulders. “Don’t bother killing me—I can’t die here.”

            As I saddled one leg over his too long neck, he acknowledged, “I wish for Miraak’s death to be painful and merciless. To live as we have…”

            My heart broke a little. “Has been torture.”

            His answer was to soar upward. My throat tightened but as he straightend and his wings flapped, my stomach eased. Recklessly, I threw back my hood and held onto my mask. Closing my eyes, I stretched out my neck and enjoyed the wind whipping at me mercilessly. And, oh, how _free_ I felt. My hair tangled behind me but I simply breathed in the ice cold air.

            How wrong I had been to think that Solstheim would be any different than Skyrim, that I might find freedom there. Instead all I had found was more responsibility, more problems.

            My mind flew back again to Teldryn and an image of him grinning at me came forth. I opened my eyes. As far as I could see, there was nothing but blackened water below me, far off arches and towers of books around us.

            “Beware,” Sahrotaar warned. “Miraak is strong. He knew you would come here.”

            I had to shout over the wind, “ _Of course_! If he wants my soul, he’s going to have to pry it from my cold, dead corpse.”

            He laughed heartily at that. “Truly, you are the one that we have been waiting for.”

            For the briefest of moments, I almost enjoyed myself. My hands didn’t even bother grabbing a hold on Sahrotaar, but rather stretched out against the wind. I felt so perfectly _limitless_. Suddenly, the words I had learned in Vahlok’s tomb seemed to fit in place.

            “ _MID… VUR SHAAN_!” I shouted into the sky and Sahrotaar joined in. Even without knowing the beast, both of us recognized that we were going into battle—that the odds were not in our favor. We shouted in unison again and again into the sky that the words did not belong to. He flew faster, stronger.

            “ _MU FEN KRIF_!” His _thu’um_ boomed through the sky as I felt him fly straight upward.

            This was more than exhilarating. “ _MU FEN KRIF_!” my own answered his.

            And then, at the apex of the tallest tower, there he stood.

            Miraak.

            “Sahrotaar!” he called out. “Are you so easily swayed?”

            When the dragon landed with all his force, the blow didn’t even startle Miraak. Instead he stood there, ram rod straight back and his sword pointing downward with both hands resting against it. His mask made his face imperceptible. Two dragons behind him reared back and growled. He raised his hand as if to stay them.

            “No, no, not yet. We should greet our guest first.”

I wanted to stangle him with his own words.

            My fingers ran through my hair and but I didn’t replace my mask or my hood. Hopping down from Sahrotaar, I landed and then stood upright. “The despised priest of the dragons.”

            I thought I heard him laugh. “And so here we are, the First Dragonborn and the Last at the summit of Apocrypha.”

            Stupidly, I walked towards him.

            Surprisingly, he did the same.

            There was about two feet of space between us. My heart raced not out of fear but out of excitement. It was familiar. It was _dovah_.

            “Well, well.” His hands didn’t move from the sword that pulsated with some kind of darkness. It reminded me of the water. “This is no doubt what Hermaeus Mora intended. He is a fickle master, you know.”

            The mask still in my hand, I shrugged. “What’s new?”        

            His gaze moved to the mask in my hand. “You have no idea the power we were meant to wield and you throw it about so _carelessly_. As soon as I am free of his power, I will reclaim my place in Tamriel as the one true Dragonborn. I am the only one worthy to bear the title.”

            I cocked a hip and let a hand rest on it. “I hate to break it to you but there were _plenty_ of Dragonborns that came after you. Why you waited until the last one to show up is beyond me.”

            This was more than strange, the way it felt so… casual.

            Again Miraak laughed. “You have no idea the knowledge I found here. About me. About _you_.”

            I frowned. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

            I could imagine him throwing me an arrogant smirk. “You must know something. I need _your_ soul to return. None of the others would have sufficed. I’ve waited scores upon scores of years for this moment.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But my time in Apocrypha is over. You are here in your full power and, thus, subject to _my_ full power. I might have had difficulty snatching your soul on Mundus but I _will_ clutch your still beating heart and _crush_ it under my feet.”    

            This time I laughed. “I’d _love_ to see that.”

            And, surprisingly, he pulled off his mask. Why? I couldn’t begin to guess. When he bent down to hiss in my face, I could have easily grabbed his head or gouged out his eyes. That was the extent of his arrogance, presenting his bare face to me—he didn’t expect to be hurt.

            But it pulled at me as well. He was just a Man, balding and much older than I.

            “You _will_ die and with the power of your soul, I _will_ return to Solstheim and be the master of my own fate once again.”

            As he put on his mask again, it struck me. _He still thinks he can control his fate but he’s not a Hero. Only Heroes have complete control over their fate._ Sheogorath had given me the most valuable of information.

            Almost lazily Miraak yelled out, “Kruziikrel! Relonikiv! Now!”

            Both dragons shot up into the air and I turned to quickly glance at Sahrotaar. He was fighting the command, I could tell. Before Miraak could attack me, I sprinted and vaulted onto the dragon’s neck.

            “ _SHUR!_ ” And we soared up just as easily.

            “ _Thuri_ , I am not long for this world,” Sahrotaar sounded unsure.

            “I know, I know.” I should have been more sympathetic but Miraak was the only thing I could focus on. “But die knowing you fought valiantly against the one who held you.”

            There was more resolve as he shouted at the other two dragons in the sky. Flames shot past me as I adjusted my own mask.

            “ _Wah Miraak_!” I directed the dragon’s blaze and fire scorched the earth by Miraak’s feet.

            What I didn’t know was that Miraak and I had more in common than I thought: he was also skilled at magic.

            One lighting bolt shot out at me and I tumbled from the dragon’s neck. Fortunately, Sahrotaar was still strong enough to fight Miraak and flew underneath me before I crashed to the ground. I landed on him with such force that it knocked the wind from me.

            “ _MUL… QAH DIIV_!” Miraak shouted as he laughed. “What do you know?” he called out as the dragon flew past again and I jumped from his neck. I just needed him to hold off the other two for now. “Who taught you to be the pitiful _Dovah_ that you are? Paarthurnax? Ha!”

            “ _MUL… QAH DIIV_!” I echoed and, oh, did I feel _invincible._ “If Paarthurnax taught me anything it’s that action is the only course I need.” My hands flew behind my back and I reached for my sword. I stepped forward, swung my sword in one hand while the other readied a wall of fire.

            Miraak’s own strength matched mine as he brought his sword down upon me. The air around me was becoming so brittle and dry that the electricity he was summoning crackled around us. The heat and lighting were causing me to lose my breath. I shoved the fire into his chest and he simply stepped back.

            “Is that the best you have?”

            I wasn’t about to answer that but he replied by throwing his spray of lighting at me. Bracing for impact, I needlessly blocked with my sword.

            The action only caused some slight unpleasantness. I looked from my chest to him and grinned widely. There was no question that his shock left him a little stunned. “The true power of the _dov_ , hmm? Perhaps _your_ best isn’t enough against this shout.”

            “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll kill you yet.”

            I threw my head back and laughed. I threw out Lucien.

            Lucien, however, was bested with one swipe of the dark sword. As I watched Miraak rear back, I mimicked him.

            At the same time we both shouted out, “ _YOL… TOOR SHUL_!” A wall of fire appeared between us and I couldn’t see him until I heard another familiar shout.

            “ _WULD… NAH KEST_!” Miraak’s form came bursting through the flames unscathed and my body rolled several feet away.

            His sword came down to pierce my chest but I raised mine just in time to block him.

            “Relent,” he growled, his strength almost overpowering my own. “I am the only Dragonborn fit to rule over the dragons. They are useless without a true master. It is my right to rule over Tamriel.”

            My arms were buckling. Above us I heard the dragons debating with one another, battling for dominance. The edge of his blade was mere inches from me when I spat out, “Bastard!” My leg swung to one side and caught his own, causing him to land flat on his back. “Waste of _life_!” I added as I sprung to my own feet.

            And then I ran my blade through his chest.

            Just as a wave of relief washed over me, a tide of dread replaced it.

            “ _Kruziikrel, zii los dii du!_ ” Miraak’s voice rang out. I watched the soul of one of the dragons fall from the sky only to be absorbed by Miraak. As he rolled over, I jumped out of the way. Behind me a ton of dragonbones crashed.

            _Rook, he just absorbed a dragon’s soul from midair_ , was what the side of me scared shitless screamed at me.

            The side of me that was enjoying this countered, _Now rip it from his still hot body_.

            My hand flew to my thigh. I unsheathed my dagger and hurled it at him. It found his arm but he simply shrugged it off, flippantly digging it out and tossing it to the ground.

            “I know things the Greybeards could never teach you,” Miraak mused. He readied his sword in one hand.

            My tongue ran across my lip and I tasted blood there. “Yeah, I was never their favorite.”

            I thought I could hear the smile in his words. “Neither was I. _FEIM… ZII GRON_!”

            And just like that I couldn’t see him. “Gods be damned.”

            The only option I had was to run. It was a moment where I wished that I had my father’s talent for alteration but all I had were my summons and destruction.

            I threw out two storm atronachs and, as Miraak felled one and then the other, I could guess where he was. I flew behind a wall and drew a circle with one foot as I threw fire into it.

            “Come now, Dragonborn, hiding is beneath you.”

            From the sound of his voice, he sounded close. I tried to steady my breathing as I looked out from the other side. The _thu’um_ had worn off but he knew where I was.

            I needed a plan. Preferably, one that wasn’t going to end in my death.

            _Think, think, think._

My hand tapped against the wall.

            When I needed to save Teldryn’s life I suddenly developed miraculous powers, but when I _really_ needed them they were absolute shit at saving me. “Great, just kill me now,” I mumbled. “My dragon soul is one big romantic cliché. _Useless_.”     

            What did I have?

            My sword and my magic and a dragon who was quickly succumbing to Miraak’s power. I wasn’t sure how much longer Sahrotaar would hold out either. My hand flew to my pouch and I downed a magic potion.

            My foot stepped out and I sent a wall of fire in Miraak’s direction. He staggered, dropped to one knee momentarily and then flew up. His sword swung, a spray of tentacles launching straight at me. Jerking my shoulder to one side, only a few of the tendrils stuck and I quickly ripped them off. It turned out to be a mistake. While I was distracted he quickly shouted, “ _VEN… GAAR NOS_!”

            My feet were ripped from the ground and my sword from my hand as I flew upward. Almost as quickly my body landed with deadly force onto the ground below. I _heard_ my arm snap before the pain registered. Mere seconds later I was screaming in pain while scrambling for cover. As I ran, I did my best to throw out atronach after atronach.

            “Dragonborn, admit your defeat,” I heard him call out again.

            I threw a wash of gold over myself and drew my bow, nocking one arrow. I waited. Patience. Patience. I breathed in. Breathed out.

            “Your soul is mine, fate has already deemed it so,” Miraak’s arrogant scoff rang out.

            A bubble of anger rose to the surface and I turned and loosed an arrow. Teldryn would have been jealous at how perfect the shot was, straight into Miraak’s heart.

            As soon as he fell over, I heard him call out, “ _Relonikiv, zii los dii du_!”

            Another soul, another crash of bones.

            Before he could get his bearings, I rushed toward my sword and bent to pick it up as he shouted again, “ _FUS… RO DAH_!”

            I didn’t have the footing nor was I ready for the impact. This time instead of upward, I flew across and at some point my body met the edge. With one hand still holding my sword, another grasped at whatever hold I could.

            “Don’t look down,” I rasped, my voice more than broken. My feet were dangling hundreds of feet above nothing. One of my fingers slipped and I weakly threw my sword over the edge as I tried to use my other hand.

            I don’t think my heart had ever beat so painfully against my chest.

            “Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know,” his words carried off the edge of the tower. My hands were beginning to feel numb but I didn’t dare close my eyes. I heard the roar of Sahrotaar off in the distance. “Two mortals fighting over who is going to rule over Tamriel. He could care less.”

            Sahrotaar was closer now and when I turned my head briefly, I could see him come into view. An idea took root into my mind and quickly bloomed. I couldn’t die in Apocrypha but Miraak needed to be stopped now.

            Just as he was rattling off about how valiantly I had tried to defy my fate, I let go of the edge.

            For the briefest of instances, I cursed myself. Then I found my voice.

            “ _TIID… KLO UL_!”

            And then it was like swimming. Free-falling while out of time was easy. I pushed my foot off the tower and felt myself sink toward Sahrotaar. With my arms outstretched I did my best to bid him closer but in time, he could only move so fast.

            My hand caught the edge of a wing and I was able to scramble onto a more affordable spot on his back before I had to snap back into time. And then everything was _quick,_ so quick I almost lost my bearings.

            Sahrotaar soared down low enough so that I could grab my sword and then reared back up into the sky.

            “Sahrotaar!” I yelled. “ _Du mok!_ _Hi los dovah ni mok!_ Do you hear me? _You_ are the dragon.”

            Sahrotaar was the first dragon I had ever heard laugh with such wicked glee as he covered Miraak in ice. “ _FO… KRAH DIIN_!”

            For one brief moment as Sahrotaar floated above Miraak I thought that we had done it, that I had saved him.

            But then I heard, “ _Sahrotaar, zii los dii du!_ ”

            I didn’t fall far but I when I did it was in the pile of bones that used to be Sahrotaar.

            The kind of numbness that had taken over me was indescribably deep.

            Miraak stood up and wiped off the lap of his robes. “As I was saying, good effort but you were never really a match for me. I am Dragonborn _and_ a dragon priest, master of the dragons and the men and the earth.”

            My legs rose up and I held onto my sword for dear life.

            “ _Hi los haar_ ,” I agreed, grinning wickedly. “A priest.” And I thought I could remember something, something from a dream. Maybe something real. “But I’m not just Dragonborn.” The ire that had seethed to a froth in me was palpable. Inside the bones, I raised my sword. I didn’t know if this would work but I had to try. “I’m the gods damned _Last_. _GOL… HAH DOV_!”

            For a moment I didn’t think I had succeeded. But a second passed. Then a minute. Miraak didn’t move. _Couldn’t_.

            I tore off my mask and and threw it to the ground.

            Each careful step brought me closer to him. “The thing is, you need me. _My_ soul is the one you’ve waited _eras and eras_ for. You didn’t want Saint Alessia. You didn’t want Talos. You didn’t want whatever scores of Dragonborns came before me. You. Want. _Me_.”

            So close now I could drive my sword into his belly, I didn’t. Instead I reached up, tore is mask off, and threw it to the ground as well. The fear in his eyes was almost something to be relished.

            Miraak was wordless.

            A short laugh escaped me. “But look at you. You even use the honor name the dragons gave you. You’re so bound by the dragons that you would be _nothing_ without them. So tell me,” I kicked him so that he stumbled back a few steps closer to the black pool behind him. “What it is that makes you so damned _special_?.”        

            Miraak was stronger than dragons, I would give him that. He wasn’t completely enthralled. Instead he scoffed at me, “What do _you_ know? You know _nothing_. You and I, we’re the only ones of our kind. Others may have been called Dragonborn but they were not linked in the same fashion as us.”

            I frowned but kicked him again. “Explain.”

            A part of me didn’t want to know the answer.

            The wrinkles around his face creased as he smiled. “I was supposed to be the first and the _last_. The _only_. Appointed to house the souls of dragons because of Akatosh’s mistake.”

            “Beg pardon?” My stomach was feeling queasy.

            “The dragons were never meant to be immortal. Dragonborns like you and me? We were created to solve that problem.”

            “And what about the others?”

            He didn’t answer my question but cooly replied, “You were _never_ meant to be. Akatosh never planned on using _you_.”

            I had let my guard down, the confusing shock had settled in. In an instant Miraak was springing at me, aiming for my throat when suddenly he was yanked back. A dark tendril ran through his chest.

            “Did you think you could escape me, Miraak?” Hermaeus Mora lazily spun into form above us, his voice booming loudly. “You can hide nothing from me here.”

            Miraak’s only reply was some bloody gurgling, black bile dribbling out one side of his mouth. The tendril that had sprung from the pool was now upright, Miraak’s body splayed and limp on it.

            “It is no matter—I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me.”

            I stood so that Miraak’s face was near mine, hanging upside down. His bloody-black smile widened. “May she be rewarded for her service as I am!” he was able to spit out, flecks of his blood hitting my face.

            The tendril flung Miraak’s body to one side and it bounced off of the ground like a rag doll.

            Hermaeus’s attention was now full on me. “Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. Learn from his example: serve me faithfully and you will be richly rewarded.”

            There was a familiar crackling and my eyes flew over to Miraak’s body which was disintegrating into brilliant gold.

            “Ooooh, no.” I waved my hands, desperately shaking my head.

            One of the tendrils from the pool snaked out and wrapped around my ankle.

            “But, yes. You _will_ devour his soul. His soul and the souls of every dragon he stole from you and the souls of all the dragons he rightfully devoured.”

            And the blinding light _engulfed_ me. I couldn’t breathe. Dropping to my knees, my hands wrapped around my throat. _Fire, fire, fire_. I was burning so hot that I just _knew_ that I was going to meet my end here. I was suffocating, dizzy, weightless.

            I gasped for air, clawed at something besides the gold. Falling to my side, my knees flew up to my chest. The wheezing that escaped me was so belaboured it was _painful._

But just as soon as it had started, I found relief. I never thought the dank air of Apocrypha would be so sweet. Sweat dripped from my brow and my skin felt flush.

            And just before Hermaeus Mora could disappear, I yelled, “What about the Last Dragonborn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot going on here. Rook is no longer in danger of going mad--it was Miraak all along. But now she has his soul and this entire time, she's wanted nothing more than to NOT be like him. And now he is a part of her. But it's not finished yet because it looks like something else is more important.
> 
> Special thanks to all of the lovely guests who've left kudos as well as SerenStone for their kind words and time!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. We're almost finished! I'd love to hear your thoughts about this chapter. Only one chapter left for RoS and then two epilogue chapters. -Ash


	43. Ashless

            There was one voice that rang clear through my mind as Hermaeus Mora stared _through_ me.

            “The gods will stand you upright,” Mercer had said. “But they will expect you to _run_.”

            Gods damned Mercer Frey’s voice.

            But entirely appropriate.

            Then again, I suppose we both had been deceived more than once by the Daedra yet we returned to them again and again.

            I knew how well that ended for him: my blade across his throat.

            Hermaeus floated wordlessly above me, one tentacle curling in on itself and then reemerging as a new tentacle as a thousand others did the same. His eyes were like boils, the dark surrounding him was not anything physical but something mental, emotional: overwhelming knowledge—so overwhelming that I was beginning to lose my sense of self.

            Luckily for me, he finally answered, “All of your words came to me, all of your shouting and crying and carrying on in that _annoying_ manner that all mortals seem to enjoy.”

            I didn’t dare _breathe_. Never had I been so terrified of a god. Maybe I couldn’t die in Apocrypha but Hermaeus Mora could certainly keep me here and tear me apart bit by bit for all eternity. Instead, I nodded and acknowledged him.

            “It is no surprise that Sheogorath is so…” his voice trailed off, laboring to choose the right word “… _invested_ in you. But to this degree? It shows some vestiges of sanity. Nothing but a relic though.”

            Now I was getting a little irritated. “So _tell_ me about the _Last_ , about me. What was he hinting at?”

            And he considered my request for a moment, still turning in and folding out on himself. Still staring at me, not one “eye” wandering from my form.

            “Wouldn’t you rather be richly rewarded? I could grant you the knowledge of the greatest mages. Or perhaps you would prefer to possess skills of Queen Barenziah herself? In my realm you could seize the expertise of the greatest swordsmen.”

            Involuntarily I snorted, “What? Your gift of Miraak’s soul wasn’t _rich_ enough?” Then I realized Hermaeus might rip my arm off for that comment.

            Shockingly, he only considered my statement. When he next spoke, I thought I could hear something sinister underneath the smile in his words. “Knowledge for knowledge then.”

            I tried sitting up. I had stayed bent for so long that my legs felt numb. This was dangerous—no doubt about it. There was no possible way to read a daedra. They weren’t of Mundus. Any emotion I had imputed onto him was completely of my own fabrication. This sort of gamble was extremely risky. He would not lay out his demands until after I had agreed. Even with that knowledge, I thought back to every gamble I had made with the gods before and decided to roll the die once more.

            “Fine.” My heart raced. I used the back of my hand to wipe off some foul mixture of blood and sweat from my forehead. Just as soon as I had muttered the word, I felt the urge to stuff it back into my mouth.

            Hermaeus Mora couldn’t have looked more pleased with himself though. “I will give you what you need, nothing more but nothing less. What sort of servant would you be if I gave you _all_ the answers?”

            Shaking my head I smirked, “Nocturnal seems to be happy enough with my work as her servant.”

            I _swore_ I heard him snicker. “And in the same breath you act as if that should be an option to all mortals. You are so _ignorant_ —your soul cannot be spread thin among multiple gods but, yet, here you are. A servant to us all.”       

            My lips were sealed together. My regret for agreeing to his deal was slowly rising.

            He continued, “But you’re a _Hero_ , the first in an era to come upon the planes. You believe that means _nothing_ to the gods? No destiny _and_ an immortal soul?” Hermaeus laughed again. “Your soul cannot be so easily parsed like a common mortal. No, no.” Even as he said the words, my blood ran cold. “ _Heroes_ serve all of us and they serve none of us.”

            _Us_. Meaning the gods. I swallowed and I could feel panic clench at my chest.

            “No good has ever come of a Hero having control of their destiny, not for the Hero at any rate. No, even mere mortals are blessed in that they have their own mundane fates already planned out boringly by whatever god they pray to.”

            “What do I care?” I groaned. “What about _me_ , the Last of the Dragonborn? Sheogorath said to find the answer to _that_ question. I don’t need your endless babble about Heroes and how _cursed_ they are. I am _more_ than aware of that fact.”

            Hermaeus took another long second before replying, “Do you not find it curious how we always cross paths, Dragonborn?”

            There was nothing more tiring than having to play these roundabout games with the gods—never a straight answer or a clear path. “No more curious than how every other damned god does. I _get_ it.” I twirled my finger around in mock amusement. “My soul, my status, and on and on.” I pulled out a few potions. “If you’re going to pull me around like this, then tell me, what did Miraak find here?”

            This time, I was certain he scoffed, “ _You’re_ here. Why not find it for yourself?”

            Some healing potion got stuck in my throat as I choked on it. “We have a _deal_ Hermaeus. Either tell me or I back out and leave. I did what I came here to do. It won’t break my heart to leave without knowing.”

            It sounded like a good lie but even my voice betrayed my feigned self-confidence. Part of me wanted to run as far as I could. Whatever he wanted from me now couldn’t be anything as benign as the skin of Mers.

            A tendril curled lazily toward me and dragged across my mouth. I almost vomited, the smell was something between a fish rotting on the bank of a river and thick mold.

            “Dragonborn, Miraak wanted you and no other because you and he were the only ones able to devour the souls of the dragons: Akatosh’s mistake.”

            I bit the “no” that threatened to jump off of my tongue.

            “Ah, yes, even before the beginning of time, Akatosh had no idea what he was doing. No, the Aedra were so mad with power, realizing that they could _create_ , spin something from nothing. His first creations were the dragons but he became a little… carried away, as it were.”

            “Carried away how?” I was a little more comfortable now that we were no longer focused on me.

            “He created immortal beings, of course. The Aedra, as you call them, _gave up_ their immortality and—suddenly—they had creations that surpassed them.” A haughty sound followed before he continued, “Dragons were absolutely perfect: Aedric and immortal, beings who could create power with a single whisper, a language unable to be passed to no others but dragons themselves. Akatosh and the others had no way of controlling that kind of power. But you know that already.”

            “Alduin,” the name spilled out of my mouth immediately.

            “Akatosh and the other so-called _gods_ had lost their power on the mortal plane, but what can you expect from beings who were tricked into believing creation was _true_ power?” Hermaeus drawled, obviously smug at his own knowledge that he hadn’t been deceived. “ _But_ out of sheer _stupid_ luck, Magnus wasn’t quite the architect that Lorkhan had thought he was. Even before Akatosh could make his mistake, the rules that Magnus had set forth required Akatosh to split the souls of his creations in half because they were immortal—immortality for immortality. The planes could not exist with such an imbalance.”

            My head was spinning. “Wait. Where does Sithis come into this? He is the Void, the nothing in the something.”

            His voice sounded genuinely surprised, “Did you want knowledge or truth, Champion? They are not the same.”

            I shifted, still uncomfortable. Looking over at Miraak’s now skeletal remains, I wondered what he had left behind. I was going to have to concede to Hermaeus’s rules. “Alright, so Akatosh had one half of the immortal souls on Nirn and the other half,” my hand flew above my head, “Wherever.”    

            “You should be able to tell this part of the story,” he goaded.

            My head was too thick with exhaustion to even process what he was telling me but I tried to connect the paths, “The dragons reigned over men, the dragon priests served them, the dragons fell.”

            “Yes,” he confirmed. “But you are forgetting Miraak.”

            “How could I _forget_ about Miraak,” my voice was more than irritated.

            “To understand the Last, you must understand the First; you are indeed both now. A circle complete, as it were.”

            I cringed at the thought.

            “Akatosh sought to correct his mistake, regain his former power. The first step was to ensure that the dragons had an enemy on Nirn—”

            “—the Dragonborns.” Gods be damned if I interrupted him but it hit me. “Miraak said he was appointed to house the souls of dragons. That he was supposed to be the first and only. And then he found _you_ …”

            “Ah, but how do you think Akatosh and the other so called et’Ada acquired the ability to make the Dragonborn? If they could have done it before, they would have. Instead—”

            _Shit_. “It was _you_.” The adrenaline that rushed alongside the realization bid me to stand, albeit on shaky legs. “ _You_. You created the Dragonborn.”

            If he could have laughed, I’m sure he would have doubled over. “Not quite. I gave Akatosh the knowledge to bind mortals with immortality, the immortal halves of the dragons he had kept stole away to keep balance; to Kynareth, I taught how to whisper to men the words of the dragons. Both of them paid _dearly_ , I assure you.

            “And with the knowledge, the Man known as Miraak came into being. Quite unfortunately for the Aedra, he found solace in the dragons and, eventually, in _my realm._ ”

            My stomach turned at his words. “So, I… my… _you_ …” I couldn’t finish the thought.

            “The Elder Scroll. Septimus Signus. Solstheim. Miraak. Yes. All of my dealings with you have been solely related to _your soul_ , your status as Dragonborn.”

            I couldn’t stay still any longer; my feet began to pace, my hands wrung around themselves. It wasn’t like reading a book at the College, completely removed from the Daedra or the Aedra—this was _my life, me_. All of his words about Miraak were nothing but the echoes of warnings of what was to come when he finally did answer the question Sheogorath posed to me.

            Instead, I tried to change topic. “Miraak’s mask,” I walked over to it and picked it up, holding it to Hermaeus. “His soul. I thought purging it would cause a Dragon Break.”   

            Another tendril dotted with eyes, waved at me lazily as if it dismiss me. “As if _you_ know anything of time and the dragons. Akatosh may have lost his ability to _directly_ influence mortals, but he manifests himself as time, takes the form of a dragon as if to mimic the power he no longer has. When a mortal’s soul is purged from Nirn, then it goes back into the Aetherius and through the Dreamsleeve.”

            “And immortals?”

            “The dragons could not be bested except by unnatural methods,” Hermaeus sounded bored, as if he was explaining how to boil water. “And Alduin’s return was the result of such an unnatural method.” There was a moment of silence before adding, “And his exit was born of the same unnatural method—not that I have to tell _you_ that. But to answer your question, his soul was not purged and then bound to his mask.”

            “Obviously. I was able to devour it.” Now that I was riffling through Miraak’s remains, I was relaxing a bit. The actions calmed me. I folded his robe, filched his sword, and pocketed his mask. I didn’t want the items but I didn’t want his soul either.

            Better to have it.

            “So why did Miraak need _me_ specifically?”

            “No others would have sufficed.”

            “I _get_ that. What I’m asking is _why_.”

            “Why? Because once Akatosh had seen what Miraak had done, he vowed to never make another who could absorb the souls of dragons. Instead he eschewed my knowledge and made Dragonborns who was bound with blood instead of by soul. By that time, the dragons had lost power and the greater threat came from the gates of Oblivion. Akatosh wiped Miraak’s name from time.”

            “Which is why no one could remember him.” It was eerie the way the pieces were falling into place. “And St. Alessia became the first Dragonborn.”

            “ _Yes_ ,” he boomed. “That pathetic attempt at keeping the forces of Oblivion from Mundus did _wonders_. The soul gem the Ayeleids created with a little help from _me_. Akatosh somehow stole the gem and mixed his own blood along with the souls of a whole bloodline. The Amulet of Kings was nothing more than a petty trick compared to you and Miraak.”

            I snorted as I hauled off Miraak’s remains over the tower, not bothering to watch them fall. I had what I wanted. “My, isn’t it a marvel at how you just keep creeping into the story?”

            “And why shouldn’t I? Some of the Daedra always were and are and will be. We might change our form but we are always the same.”

            I sighed. My fatigue was becoming intolerable. “So, the other Dragonborns, like Talos, they weren’t like Miraak or I. So how did Talos become a god?”

            “By mantling Lorkhan of course. Act enough like something and eventually the knowledge becomes truth. But what does that matter? He wasn’t a Hero.”

            Shaking my head, I realized that he kept guiding me back to the idea. “So what does being a Hero matter?”

            “Heroes are blessed and cursed; enormous power but with that power comes great burden.”         

            “Please,” my hands spread out in front of me as if to bid him to continue. “Tell me _more_ about these great burdens. I _know_ this already.”  

            “Then you know of the Heroes who set your fate in motion.”

            Again, my stomach dropped and my heart beat furiously. “I have no fate, no destiny.” I clung onto those words for comfort.

            “Not like the other mortals,” he agreed. “But prophecy and event and Hero are inextricably linked.”

            Sheogorath had visited me for a reason. “The Hero writes the Elder Scroll.” Gods be damned. Shit.

            _Shit._

“So it was the Man among the Mer who set forth the motions for the Mer among the Men and it was the Mer among the Men who set forth the motions for the immortal among the mortals. Or the mortal among the immortals. You _are_ both after all.”          

            Neloth had told me the Nerevarine was a Man, an Imperial woman. And the Hero of Kvatch? What I had learned must not have been true. The Hero from two hundred years ago must have been Mer.

            “Alright then, so tell me. _What about the Last Dragonborn_?”

            Hermaeus Mora took no time spitting out, “You were never meant to be—Akatosh’s last resort once he realized the Men had not defeated Alduin. All that time wasting souls on binding blood to soul in a useless soul gem when he could have been making Dragonborns as powerful as you and Miraak. So when his greatest threat returned to him, he had no choice but to send the Last half he had. And the wheel turned and it fell upon you.”

            There was another moment of silence before he added, “Out of sheer luck.”

            It was all so confusing but I understood the gist; I had saved the greatest threat to Aedric rule. The truth I dared not spoke to anyone. I spared Alduin.

            My voice shook as I asked the question I did not want answered, “What does that mean?”

            “Something wonderful for now,” he replied, clearly elated. “Not only do you still live, a great threat to the Aedra to begin with, but you set lose one of the greatest threats to their destruction. Even _more_ deliciously, you’ve completed the circle.”

            Oh.

            Shit.

            My circle partner. That’s what Sheogorath had called Miraak.         

            “So wrapped up in your own life, your own self,” Hermaeus Mora sounded amused, “Mortals like you miss the whole of the picture. You ask not what became of the Heroes before you.”

            This was maddening. I couldn’t keep anything straight; he wasn’t giving me any plain answers. “ _Fine_ , just tell me then.”

            His irritation was apparent. “You are capable of picking up a book and I tire of this game. I’ve told you everything. The Last Dragonborn is the last great soul forged from the beginnings of Mundus. _Of course_ , every god and being is going to smell your scent and chase you down as if it was Hircine’s hunt. You are like Miraak and Miraak was like you—the only two mortals who could consume the souls of Akatosh’s true children. Even Talos was clever enough to use the knowledge to his advantage and fashion himself as a god. You are now the bound dragon and the elves will attempt to unbind you to seek their own place as gods in Mundus.”

            And _there_ it was. _I was what the Thalmor sought_. Or at least now I was. They didn’t know it though. I could have laughed if I didn’t feel like crying.

            “But now,” he interrupted my thoughts. “I need to know _which_ dragon you share a soul with.”

            “What?” I wasn’t sure my fear could have ratcheted up further, but it did. “But I…” The halves of immortal souls that had to be kept back because of Magnus. Again. The irony. “ _No_.” I took a step back but his tentacles were already creeping toward me, amorphous, sharp pinchers forming at their ends. “No, I didn’t know you would mean something like _this_ …”

            But even as I said the words, I knew my luck was failing me. I had taken a gamble with the gods one too many times and now I was on the losing end.

            “Oh, don’t be concerned,” he cooed as one pincher came from behind and dug into back. My legs gave out. “As you’ve noticed, you can’t die here.” And another pincer slipped from the other side and proceeded to rip me open, my spine the origin of the tear.

            I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t move. There was blinding, white-hot pain and there was scorching hot blood that ran down my back as his claws dug in further. The only action I could take was to stare into the sky, watching the murky clouds spiral overhead. The claws pinched my lungs, burrowed into my gut. But as much as it hurt, I didn’t feel present. But still… pain. I had never known a life without it. The sharp blades slicing, the pincers digging through every organ—and the tentacles, they slid and squirmed around as if burrowing into my veins.

            Storn’s last moments had been spent like this when Hermaeus Mora had ripped knowledge from him.

            I felt weak.

            My eyes grew heavy.

            And then I heard Hermaeus say, “ _This_ was worth _everything_.”        

            Stupidly, I my mouth mumbled, “What?”

            He refused to answer. “My silence is my mercy upon you and the mortals. This knowledge would destroy you all.”         

            Suddenly, I fell to the ground and collapsed in a heap. I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing. My eyelids fell one last time and I heard his voice before I knew nothing else.

            “You’ll know where to find me.”

* * *

 

            When I awoke in the closet, I panicked to the point of hysteria. My hand flew to the door and I flung it open. I raced out, breathing heavily and mumbling incoherently. Papers scattered to the floor as my hands grasped tables for support. I heard Neloth behind me.

            “Go ahead and make a mess of my work,” his hand clasped my arm and turned me around. “Dear _gods_.” 

            And then his cold fingers were on my face again, I could taste the ash on his fingers as he pried open my mouth and began to examine me.

            “Well, there’s no doubt now. Hermaeus must have ripped a small bit of knowledge from you. You can’t even form a complete thought right now, can you?”    

            I shook my head but reached around to my back, my hands shaking. I was able to force out, “My soul.” My tongue felt paralyzed. Everything was going too quickly and too slowly all at once. Too much and too fast and too slow. Breathe in. Breathe out. _Su’um. Su’um._

            Neloth considered me for a moment, stroking his beard as if studying a puzzling alchemical ingredient. “Yes…” he mused. “The ideal place for observing a soul would be through a life line. The spine is ideal. Turn around.” His arm turned me roughly as he began undressing me.     

            “Stop.” The protest was weak and my hands flung at him. But I was too weak, too powerless. I couldn’t stop his spindly fingers from scraping against my skin.

            He slapped at one. Hard. “Quit acting as if you have any sense of modesty.” His hands jerked and yanked at my armor, not taking the time to do anything carefully or correctly. And I had to sit there and let him. Inside my mind, I screamed out _NO NO NO_ but my gaze stayed locked onto the floor. I swallowed down vomit.

            I had no strength left in me to fight. His cold, bony fingers grazed my skin here and scratched carelessly there and I cringed. Finally, Neloth yanked my shirt off and ripped down my smalls. As he hissed in excitement, he scratched a nail down my spine.

            “Never in all my life could I have dared to hope to see such a mark.”

            “Mark?” I strained my head, struggled to keep my breasts covered with one arm. “What mark?” My voice still shook.

            He ran his finger down again but more carefully, leaving a trail of cold on top of the heat of his scratching.

            “Stay still and don’t move—I need to record this.”

            My other hand flew to my back, feeling around for what he was interested in. Finally, my fingers found it: a deep scar along my spine. My hands shook violently as I traced it from between my shoulder blades to the middle of my back.

            It was deep. Deeper than the ones on my chest.

            My words were lost. One finger kept running up and then running down, as if I could smooth out the large notch.

            “I said _stay still_.” Neloth’s hand yanked mine away. He shoved me over, causing my spine to stretch out long and painfully. “Now, just stay like that. I need to get this right.”

            How long did it take?

            Minutes?

            Hours?

            I had lost all sense of time.

            Finally, he pulled my shirt back over my back and thrust his drawing in front of me.

            If he was skilled then it looked horrific.

            “Is this it?” I whispered. My mind felt a little more put together, my thoughts forming a little more clearly.

            Neloth didn’t bother answering. Instead he sounded bored as he went back to whatever he had been working on, “Don’t smudge the charcoal.”

            It was _black_. The scar wasn’t just a single line either. There were thin veins that branched out in places as if following my own blood stream. Underneath the scar though was something I hadn’t felt: a symbol I couldn’t recognize.

            “What is it?”

            He didn’t even bother looking up. “How should I know?”

            It was jagged, like something Daedric, but it formed in on itself like a circle.

            There was no use. Neloth was too involved in whatever he had been working on before. I was merely an inconvenience.

            As I slipped my armor on, I looked up at him. My voice sounded uncertain. “I saved all of Solstheim.”

            “Well, it’s not like anyone _asked_ you to,” he grumbled. “Do you _need_ anything? I’m busy.”         

            I just shook my head and made my way wordless back out to Solstheim.

            Back out into the ash.

* * *

 

            I don’t know how I traversed almost the whole of Solstheim. There might have been some rogue mages or ash spawn but I couldn’t make anything clear of the memories. A fog held my mind hostage. When I stepped into Raven Rock, nothing felt real.

            It was dusk. When I passed by the entrance to the town, I heard the murmurs of two people who sounded a little more than engaged with one another. I took another step and both of them froze. Out of the shadows stepped out Captain Veleth, clearing his throat. I kept walking. Either he thought I cared or Dreyla had pushed him aside out of fear. He might have said something but my feet carried me to the Netch.

            _The Retching Netch_ , I heard Teldryn’s voice correct.

            That was all I wanted at the moment. I needed Teldryn the way I had wordlessly needed him throughout my entire ordeal on the island. Maybe his fingers could retrace Neloth’s and remove any sensation the wizard had left. If anyone could help me forget I was Dragonborn right now, it was Teldryn Sero. Even as I opened the door to the inn, my eyes began to search for him. I wouldn’t show him my spine immediately—there was no way he would understand. My stomach churned at the memory of Hermaeus Mora ripping me apart. No, I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t ask more of Teldryn after so much.

            It was crowded, noisy. When I raked back my hood and mask, several people stopped talking. It took me a moment to realize that these people had never really _seen_ me before. Even as I slipped behind the bar, Geldis looked a little surprised.

            “I thought you were dead.”

            My hand slipped him a coin and he silently slid me a flagon. “I _feel_ dead.” Sipping at the sujamma, I unabashedly asked, “Where is he?”   

            I could hear some murmurs behind me, the whole inn had gone silent.

            “Teldryn?” Geldis asked, his eyes darting behind me at something I couldn’t see. “You actually just missed him. Cindiri kept pestering him about something. She kept saying that some folio was going to get ruined, sitting there for a year. Something like that.”

            I groaned. Cindiri’s gods damned folio? She _still_ remembered my agreement? “And Teldryn went to find it?” If he had been here I would have kicked him hard below the belt for doing such a thing.

            “I… uh…” Geldis’s eyes kept darting behind me. “Yes, but I think his plan was to leave first thing in the morning by way of the _Northern Maiden_.”

            That was news indeed. “Leave? To—”

            Before I could get out another word, I felt a hand land hard on my shoulder.

            “Well, well, well, _n’wah_. Fancy this,” Slitter’s voice oozed.

            Sighing, I put down my drink and growled over my shoulder. “ _What?_ ”

            “It seems like we’ve got a bit of a problem.” His hand gripped tighter on my shoulder. I pried it off of me as I turned and faced him. Of all the things I wanted to deal with right now, this was far below my list.

            “Yeah,” I spit at his boots. “And I’m looking at him.”

            Not a sound rang through the inn as Slitter drew his weapon.

            “Now, let me tell you this. Seems like Drovas skipped out on his debt.”

            I shrugged and yawned. “So?”

            “Mogrul,” Slitter pointed to the orc who was staring intently at us. “Don’t take too kindly to being short-changed. And since I’m not about to knock on that wizard’s door, I thought I’d come collecting from _you_. I’ve watched you drop coin in this town like it was shit. Seems like you’d be a _fine_ person to _donate_ a thousand gold to a charitable cause.” He laid the battle ax near my neck. “The one where you stay alive.”

            I stood up slowly, his weapon still on my neck. Scanning around the room I saw familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. I decided to take Teldryn’s advice for once and pretend that I was the hero everyone thought I was. Loudly, I asked the room, “Who here is in debt to that foul-smelling orc?”

            Slitter’s axe edged in further to my throat but I didn’t waiver. Not a hand raised in the inn. I took that to mean a lot more should have been in the air. I continued, announcing to the room, “I could pay you…” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mogrul nod in agreement. “…Or I could just kill you right now.”

            Slitter erupted into laughter, “Take your best shot, _n’wah_! But—”

            I interrupted him by ducking underneath his blade, pivoting on my heel and swinging my leg underneath his so that he fell on top of the bar. Standing behind him, my hand grabbed a wad of his greasy hair and shoved his face further into the wood. Quickly, my other hand shoved into my pouch and I pulled out a handful of East Empire Pendants, shoving them at Geldis.

            “Advance apologies for the mess,” was all I got out before yanking Slitter’s head upward and slamming it down once and then twice into the bar.

            From behind me I heard, “Guard!” and some screaming.

            I felt someone’s hand come down on my shoulder but I brushed it away. Instead I brought up Slitter’s head and tried to ignore the blood running from his nose and brow and mouth. I slid my dagger from its sheath and brought it to his ear.

            “Now. Let’s talk about debt and how I’m going to make you regret threatening me.”

            My blade edged against his ear further as my hand yanked at its pointed end. Slitter wasn’t in any condition to talk. There was more yelling but I wasn’t paying attention.

            “ _Elf_ ,” I spit out and leaned in closer so that only he could hear me. “I hope you like pain because that’s the only payment I know how to deal in.”

            And I sliced his ear off.

            There was more yelling, more blood. A pair of large hands yanked me back and we flew up the stairs. One of the guards was rushing through the door as we squeezed by. It was then that I realized that it was Glover who had pulled me away. We ran to his house and he locked the door behind him.

            His only response was to stare at me.

            Mine was, “I didn’t get to finish my drink.” 

            “Gods damn,” he half-laughed. “Delvin wasn’t lying. You do look a bit Mer-ish. Not like me and him at all.”

            “Glover, cut the shit,” my hand ran through my hair. “I’m not in the mood.”

            “Hey,” he waved a finger at me. “I’ve just saved your arse. Doesn’t matter how good you’ve gotten in with these Mer or which one of them you’ve been bedding, they’re going to take care of their own.”

            I folded my arms across my chest, “Of course,” I rolled my eyes. “Try to help people and all they do is turn on you the moment you slip up once. Typical.”

            “Help?” he laughed again. “You’ve got a strange way of lying low. Never known a thief to want to draw attention to themself.”  

            “Yes, yes,” I waved him off and began pacing. “Teldryn is going to wonder if I’m still mad.” I knew the joke would go over his head.

            “Speaking of which,” he started slowly and his voice dropped to a whisper. “He told me you had died. Not that I believed him obviously. Wrote a letter to Delvin and everything.”

            Just the mention of Skyrim made me frustrated. My hand thoughtlessly rummaged through my pouch as I answered, “Yes, well, I suppose Teldryn’s lot in life is to blather on non-stop.” My hand hit a sealed note and I dug it out. It was the one from Ulfric that I hadn’t read. As I broke the seal open, I continued. “But I’m not dead, as you can see and so…”

            Oh, by the gods. I couldn’t be reading what I thought my eyes saw.

            Glover caught on. “What?”

            “Glover,” I read over the note twice. Thrice. Four times. Five. “Save that note. I need to be dead.”

            The shock was written all over his face. “What?”

            Before he could ask, I shoved the note back in carelessly. “You heard me. I need to be dead to the Guild. For right now anyway. It looks like I won’t be going back to Skyrim for a while.”

            And he didn’t ask questions but looked over on his table where a few sheets of paper lay. He walked over slowly and picked them up, folding them over. When he handed them to me, his hands laid on top of mine.

            “Then here you go, already done.” Glover sounded concerned. “But also there’s that thing I told you about, back a while ago.”

            Right. That favor I had never asked about. Before I could open it, he stopped me.

            “No. Not right here. I’ll trust you use your best judgment.”

            I nodded and went to rush out the door before the guards could come knocking. I had to leave for Windhelm. _Now_.

            I was halfway out when Glover called out, “What do I tell him?”   

            What was there to tell Teldryn? Sorry? I live? It was nice bedding you in Solstheim? There was really only one thing to say. Nothing.

            I shook my head and left.

            Running down to the docks, a few guards spotted me but I was faster.

            When I hopped off the deck and onto the _Northern Maiden_ and crew shot up in alarm.

            “We leave _now_.”

            And as fast as they could, we were on our way back to Skyrim.

            The guards yelled out from the dock.

            I wasn’t going to be stepping foot on Solstheim anytime soon.

            “Ingrates,” I muttered to myself.

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. This is the end to the story. There's a lot of call backs to the prequel (Relentless) and set-up for the sequel (Leading the Blind), but, aside from that, poor Rook.
> 
> I'm going to rush and get the epilogues finished. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	44. Epilogue

            It was a busy Middas in Windhelm. With the promise of Spring on the crest of the horizon, the weather outside was bearable. Although snow and ice dusted the streets and walls of the city, children found they could run around the market while their parents shopped for the days’ meal without five layers of clothing on. It was an unusually warm day.

            Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced grinned happily at a young girl who had just bumped into him, rubbing her hair affectionately when her mouth dropped and she pointed excitedly at something behind him. When he turned, his heart dropped.

            “It’s Lady Erith,” the young girl whispered, her hands clutched against the lap of her dress.

            _Erith Varine_ , Yrsarald muttered to himself. “Excuse me, little one.” He flashed her a friendly smile before moving his way past the crowd, brushing past people who looked at him like he was mad. He kept his eyes on her, watching her completely covered and dark form silently move by and past, turning a corner to walk down an ally. Her cloak whipped around her legs, her arms.

            Yrsarald needed to find her, bring her to King Ulfric. He winced at the thought. Ulfric often chastised for him addressing him as such before the moot.

            The moot which had been put off for over year now because of the problem that had cropped up.

            He didn’t shout her name but it didn’t matter. Yrsarald turned the corner she had and found she was gone.

            “Talos damn her,” he groaned.

* * *

 

            Niranye locked the door behind her and frowned. Why Lady Varine requested her to visit the house to clean and make sure everything was in order was beyond her; she hadn’t seen the thief for about a year now. The lady did this often, disappearing for lengths at a time with no word from her or her whereabouts. Niranye didn’t care either way; she was paid for practically walking in and out of a house and occasionally checking in on that young man the lady seemed fond of.

            Well, _fond_ wasn’t the right word. The Master of the Thieves’ Guild didn’t seem fond of much save for gold and making sure she could keep all of her fingers on the lyre’s strings. Niranye had just walked upstairs when she heard someone fiddling with the latch on an outside window in an adjacent room. She rushed in just in time to see a dark figure swing in legs first and then land on the floor, quiet as you please.

            “Erith,” Niranye sighed. “You’re the only person I know who breaks into their _own house_.”

            The dark lady shrugged and walked up to Niranye. “People watch the front door and I’d like to keep my presence here… quiet. A few people saw me in the market but it was unavoidable. And I _know_ Yrsarald was following me; Ulfric won’t be long in tearing down my door.”

            Niranye didn’t know what to ask first but she knew better; the less questions the better. Erith seemed irritated. So straight to business. “The house is in order, taxes paid twice over. Aventus is doing fine. Quintus says that he isn’t screwing up things too badly.”

            The lady nodded and rushed downstairs. Niranye followed her and listened as she did so. “I’m leaving for a while; if what Ulfric says is true then I need to be gone. I know what will happen if I don’t.”

            Niranye didn’t bother asking. “I’ll make sure things are taken care of.”

            Erith opened up a secret room behind a cabinet and rushed in, hurriedly pulling things off the shelf and stuffing them into her pouch. “And watch after Aventus. Make sure he’s taken care of. Oh,” she pulled something out and handed it to Niranye, “Make sure that Delvin gets this. Don’t let them know you’ve seen me; just say that it came from Solstheim by way of the _Northern Maiden._ ”

            Niranye took the letter wordlessly, nodding. Erith rushed back upstairs to leave by the window again. Before she stepped out onto the ledge, she turned her head and gave one final word of warning to the Altmer.

            “And if a Dunmer from Morrowind comes around and starts asking questions, demanding things, don’t budge an inch. You don’t know me. Lady Erith Varine lives here and she’s often engaged in business in Solitude.”

            Niranye nodded, “As usual.”

            And the lady disappeared.

* * *

 

            Ulfric Stormcloak was not a patient man.

            “You _saw_ her and yet you did nothing to stop her? She might be halfway across Skyrim by now!” his fist came down upon his throne. Ulfric slumped down further and rested his cheek on his fist.

            Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced did not cower or waiver, “I saw her disappear. I’ve already been by her house the Altmer claims to know nothing.”

            Ulfric groaned. “ _Of course_ she knows nothing. She’s in league with that damned woman.”          

            Galmar Stone-Fist laughed as he took another huge bite out of a mutton leg. “Yrsarald, let Ulfric sulk. He’s just angry that she’s gotten the best of him again.” He patted on the bench beside him. “Come, have some breakfast.”

            Yrsarald didn’t need to be told twice. Just as he sat down and took a sip of ale, the doors to the Palace opened up widely.

            And who else it could have been but her?

            Ulfric sat up quickly.

            Lady Erith Varine.

            “Good morning, fellow Stormcloaks!” she whipped back her face coverings and spread her arms wide in greeting. “Gorgeous outside, isn’t it?”

            The way she always called them “fellow Stormcloaks” in that mocking manner was a surefire way to get underneath Ulfric’s skin.

            “ _You_ ,” he spit out.

            She smiled widely and strolled over to sit between Yrsarald and Galmar, helped herself to an apple. Taking a large bite, she smiled. “I cannot _begin_ to tell you how much I _missed_ food that didn’t taste like ash. Everything in Solstheim? It was like I ate nothing _but_ ash.” 

            Ulfric went to say something but the lady continued.

            “But Yrsarald and Galmar know all about that. In all honesty, you two,” she slapped Yrsarald’s back and then Galmar’s, “That was _quite_ a show you put on. Did you splurge some coin and send them to the Bard’s College in Solitude?” She clapped loudly, exaggeratedly. “Spectacular performance.”

            It was always amusing when Ulfric believed he had something shameful on the lady, but Yrsarald would never admit to being entertained by it. “Yes,” Ulfric drolled, “I heard you were busy bedding Mer in Morrowind. Was that the pressing business?”

            “Oh, Ulfric,” she cooed mockingly as she took a slice of cheese. Yrsarald stifled a laugh as she said, “Why would I do that when I told practically all of Morrowind that you were just sick with worry about where your future bride was.”

            Galmar spit out his drink and Ulfric shot up.

            “ _You what?”_

Erith suddenly turned serious. “But that wasn’t as low as _you’ve_ sunk lately. Putting off the moot because you know you’ll lose? Pathetic.”

            Ulfric stomped to the opposite side of the table and pointed an accusing finger at her. “There are vampires wreaking havoc across Skyrim but you wouldn’t know that seeing as you found it fit to disappear for the better part of a year.”

            She slammed her hands down so suddenly, Yrsarald jumped. “And it seems fitting that any future king or queen would be able to handle that. Let this be your gods damned test for all I care!” Her hands flew into the air and then leaned across the table, practically standing on the bench. “But let me tell you _this_. No. More.”

            Ulfric looked taken aback. “No more, what?”

            “ _This_. I’m done. You want a savior, be your own gods damned savior. Go lick Talos’s arsehole and show _all_ of Skyrim just how _dedicated_ you are,” Erith practically yelled. “But I am no more for this land. I have given my all twice and thrice over and I. Am. _Finished_.”

            Yrsarald and Galmar both looked up at her wordlessly as she stepped over the bench and made her way out the door. Ulfric tried to say something but, again, Erith interrupted his thoughts with her last words.

            “Save your own gods damned selves because I’m never returning.”

            She slammed the massive doors.

            Yrsarald stared at Ulfric expectedly but it was Galmmar who broke the long silence.

            “It seems like you have a problem, old friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Looks like Rook isn't the most honest person around (*mock shock*). And, man, looks like the vampire problem is causing some issues and now Rook is refusing to help. Can you blame her after Solstheim?
> 
> Just one more chapter! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	45. Teldryn's Epilogue

            Geldis eyed me suspiciously. “ _Water_?”

            “Don’t,” I warned, running my hand down my face. He obliged without any more discussion but I could just hear his mind grinding away at the questions.

            _Where have you been?_

 _Why are you dressed like_ that?

            _Where’s our favorite lady?_

            My face didn’t leave the palm of my hand until I heard the tin cup sliding toward me. Geldis began to wipe the counter down in slow, deliberate circles but I could feel his gaze on me. Regardless, I ignored him and pulled out the ring from my pouch. The Retching Netch empty and quiet failed to distract me from my own thoughts.

            It hurt physically to hold it in my hand, run my fingers over the worm silver and brilliant amethyst stone in the center. Rook had shoved it into my hand, didn’t say a word about it. But she had lingered a bit before releasing it into my care. Taking a sip of the water, I was tempted to sell it or throw it out into the streets. Something. Anything.  
  
            Just anything that would make me forget her.  
  
            _Good luck_.  
  
            That was it. That was all I could think of to say as she casually walked off to her death.  
  
            And now she was gone from this world forever.  
  
            “Teldryn,” Geldis’ voice softly broke through my thoughts and when I looked up, realized he was holding his rag out to me. “It’s not much but…”  
  
            At first I was confused. Then I blinked and it struck me: I had been crying.  
  
            With the ring still in my hand, I shook my head and used the back of my hand to wipe away whatever tears lingered.  
  
            Geldis simply went back to wiping down the counter but his face showed that he understood the reason for my pain. Instead of offering condolences though, he mentioned, “Hadn’t seen either of you around in Raven Rock for a while. Just thought it was the usual. More than a few weeks ago, though, strangest man came into town by way of the _Northern Maiden_. Damn near mirror image of your late patron.”  
  
            My heart drops a little at the off-hand comment.

            Geldis continued, “Tall, handsome. Dressed in very expensive mage’s robes. Didn’t say why he was here but my guess was to see Master Neloth.”  
  
            Finishing my water, I slammed down the cup, “Do you have a _point,_ Geldis?”

            Scowling at me, he dug under the counter for a bottle of sujamma and thrust it at me, “This is a place of _hospitality_. Last thing I need is your tears staining my bar top.” Motioning in front of him, Geldis sighed and released what was left of his half-hearted frustration. “You don’t think it makes me a little saddened to hear the news? But what are you going to do about it? If she’s gone, she’s gone. Mourn. Go to the temple and pray. But it isn’t going to do you any good sitting there and bottling it up. Drink.”  
  
            The first sip was almost like fire but a welcome one. The next felt better. “Our last words could have gone better,” I admitted finally to Geldis and to myself. “Our last day together wasn’t the best.”  
  
            Geldis stopped caring for the bar and sat down on the other side of the counter, opposite me. “And that ring that you won’t stop looking at?”  
  
            Placing it between us, I shook my head again, “I’ve no idea what meaning it had for her. There’s no inscription on the inside, it looks plain enough.”  
  
            “Hmm,” he picked it up and turned it over a few times. “Doesn’t even look _that_ valuable.”  
  
            Suddenly, a short laugh erupted from me. “That would be like her, wouldn’t it? Giving me a parting gift that is practically worthless.”  
  
            Geldis smiled at that. “Very much like her.”

            He didn’t ask how she died which was probably for the best. What would I have said? _She died saving the island. She’s stuck in Oblivion until her mortal link is severed from this plane._ Or worse. _I don’t know._

“Very,” I picked up the ring and returned it to my pouch.  
  
            “So, what’s next for you then?”  
  
            “Me?” I remembered promising Rook to travel together across Tamriel. “I’ve… I’ve given it some thought.” When I arrived back in Raven Rock, the _Northern Maiden_ was at dock and deck hands were busy loading up cargo. “I’m going back home.”  
  
            Geldis raised an eyebrow and pulled back a bit. “Morrowind proper?”  
  
            “Back to the mainland,” I confirmed. “Blacklight. I’ve not seen my brother in quite some time. I thought I might see if anyone knows where he might be working now.”  
  
            “You’ve been here far too long anyway.” Geldis went back to working, sweeping here and there. “Your brother’s also a mercenary if I remember correctly.”  
  
            Nodding, I finished off the alcohol. “That he is indeed.” My head was a little lighter. Laughing I added, “Best swordsman in all of Morrowind. That’s him. Or me. I guess it depends who’s living in Morrowind right now.”  
  
            Geldis grinned at my mirth. “Well, if you plan on leaving soon, the captain was telling me that the _Northern Maiden_ ’s trips are going to slow down to the island. They’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Some business about vampires in Skyrim or some nonsense. First dragons and then vampires? What’s next? The Tribunal should just damn the place and get on with it. Nords aren’t worth anything anyway.”

Morning? Waiting between now and then would be excruciating. I’d do it though. The sooner I could leave the better.  
   
            From above there was a bit of commotion as a small party entered the inn. Councilor Morvayn and Adril Arano descended the stairs side by side, talking and laughing about something. Adril’s wife, Cindiri walked behind them with two guards behind her. Mouth flat, eyes rolling, she sighed every few seconds.

            “Welcome, Councilor! Always a pleasure, Adril and Cindiri,” Geldis greeted. “What can I get everyone?”

While the men chatted with Geldis, Cindiri eyed me, her mouth pursed in deep thought.  
  
“Can I assist you with something?” I snapped lightly.

“You…” she pointed at me, obviously still working something over. “You’re the mercenary that she hired. That strange Man who never exposed her face.”

Rook.  
  
Elya.  
  
Pins pricked at my heart.

All I gave Cindiri was, “Yes, I was.”  
  
My words didn’t escape her. She sneered. “ _Was_? What, were you dismissed? Lover’s quarrel? She get herself killed?”

Instead of answering, I rolled my eyes, “Is there something you needed?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, another fresh wave of pain washed over me. I’d sounded exactly like Rook. Is this how Rook had felt constantly? People just coming up to her unprompted and demanding things of her?  I’d seen it happen _to_ her but hadn’t been on the receiving end directly.

“As a matter of fact there is. _Your_ patron agreed to retrieve my folio and has yet to make good on her promise. It’s been _over a year_ now.” Cindiri crossed her arms and her mouth didn’t budge from an ugly grimace.

I mentally thanked Geldis for the sujamma. Without it I might have been less forgiving at the petty demand. “And what is it that you’d like _me_ to do then?”

She stomped her foot and threw her arm out to motion to upstairs. “ _Go retrieve it!_ ”  
  
Staring at her a moment, I burst out in more inexplicable laughter. “You jest!”  
  
She returned my reaction with a steely gaze. “I. Do. _Not._ ”

Cindiri was serious. Unluckily for her, Rook was no longer my patron. Would no longer be anyone’s patron. I motioned to Geldis for more sujamma and smirked at her. “Listen, I’m not employed any more. Not by her. Not by anyone. I refuse. It’s been over a year and you’re still in need of it? Why not get it yourself?”

One would have thought I’d suggested she’d go bed herself. “That folio is a _precious heirloom_ , for your information. I’ve been patiently waiting for it because I spent a fortune having the thing rebound in one of the finest bookstores of Cyrodiil!”  
  
            Everything hurt. My muscles hurt after that botched plan of Rook’s in the tomb. My mind hurt from this woman’s incessant wailings about her book. My heart hurt because each time Cindiri opened her mouth, I swore I could hear Rook’s response to each ridiculous remark. Had I left her just so little time ago? This morning felt like years ago. Her shoving that ring in my hand and looking up at me to desperately to save her, take her away. Or perhaps that’s what I wanted her to want from me. If Rook wanted to run, she would have run. Instead, she saved the island. Possibly all of Tamriel.

 _Again_ , I could hear her grumble.

 _Good luck._  
  
            I had to remember that was all she gave me also.  
  
            Good luck with what? I chuckled at the idea that maybe, _possibly_ Rook had ignored Cindiri all this time so that I would find myself in this exact situation: doing petty jobs that she couldn’t be bothered to.

“Is something funny? If you don’t make good on your patron’s promise, I will find _some_ reason for my husband to throw you in the Bulwark.”

Glancing over at her husband, neither he nor the Councilor had been paying much attention to our exchange. The only one who’d overheard was Geldis and the only help he was giving me was a look that said, “Just retrieve the damn thing and be done with it.”

Sighing, I threw back another sip of sujamma and slammed the mostly full container on the counter. The last thing I needed keeping me from leaving Raven Rock tomorrow was a stay in the local jail. “ _Fine_. Keep your robes on."

* * *

 

            The best direction Cindiri gave me was in the form of some vague mention of a shipwreck.

“The ‘Strident Squall’ or something like that.”  
  
Before trudging through the ash across the coastline though, I’d made sure to talk to the captain of the _Northern Maiden._ Setting sail first thing in the morning, I was going to be with them on my way back home after many years.

I’d run into Glover leaving town.

“Where’s our favorite thief?” he’d asked good-naturedly.  
  
My face without my helm wasn’t good at hiding the news from him either. “Dead,” was all I managed to strangle out between a half-choked sob and a distant, vacant tone.

And at first he’d chuckled uneasily but quickly realized the truth in my words. “Oh.”  
  
We’d stood there for a moment silently before I motioned toward out of town, “I have to take care of something.”

            He nodded, let me go. Without her, he was just the blacksmith who repaired my armor, sold supplies. I wasn’t sure what there was to say to him. How well had they known one another? Did Rook tell him that she _might_ retire as the head of his guild? Slowly, it dawned on me that possibly Glover didn’t know she was the Dragonborn. He probably had no idea what her true purpose being here was.

            This ridiculous errand was supposed to be a half-hearted distraction but with every step I took, there was something else that took me out of the numbness that had started to quietly fall over me. The entire trip back to Raven Rock, a void ate at me first. Then a sensation of _needing_ to feel intense grief washed over me; it was as if I could just tell myself to be deeply grief-stricken for a short period of time, I would be over it. But nothing came of it. No amount of force could snap me out of this feeling of nothingness though. The old Attius farm triggered brief, painful sadness but, just like that, I would go back to feeling nothing.

            The sun began its dive into the horizon the further I walked. I wasn’t in any hurry. It struck me how strange that was. With Rook it had been a monumental effort to get her to _stop._ Now, I could take time to just stare out into the sea and take in the sunset. Picking up a rock, I hurled it into the water just because I knew I could.

            “What a fantastic use of your time,” I could hear her voice clear as day, see her rolling her eyes, and watch her cross her arms in annoyance.

            She probably wouldn’t approve of this little outing either.

The wreckage wasn’t hard to find.  
  
The time between the ship crashing and now meant that reavers had time to set up a new home, complete with a shoddy looking wall to keep the whole thing safe from anyone invading by land. One was pacing back and forth, yawning, not paying attention to his surroundings. My guess was they’d been undisturbed all this time.

            I inhaled deeply and let out a bored sigh, throwing out a flame atronach. It gave chase to the guard who immediately burned, flailing and screaming until his body gave into the fire and fell over dead. Others came out and attacked the atronach, it danced around them almost as if it were enjoying the whole affair. Some saw me and started racing, yelling and swinging their swords.

            And I just stood there, my feet sinking slightly into the ash. Without my will, my hand flew to my sword and I slipped to one side, slicing one woman who flew at me open from side to side. Her entrails spilled out and her body fell hard into the ash, dust swirling around her. Another man tried to trip me as I sidestepped the first women, but my arm flew out and my sword ran him through. Before I knew it, the fighting had stopped. Just like that.

My atronach flew back to me and listlessly twirled.  
  
“You too?” The way it stared vacantly back at me didn’t give me any hope for an answer but it was comforting to say something aloud.  

            As we moved closer, I was finally able to see the rotting bodies speared upon wooden pikes. “Do you think they decorated this place themselves or hired someone for the job?”

            Again, though, the atronach only returned silence.

            Their makeshift camp outside of the ship did not impress. Despite being here for months, the reavers had not gotten much further than a fire pit, crates for furniture and a few chests. I didn’t bother checking anything. I had enough gold to get me to Windhelm, travel back to Morrowind, and settle back in Blacklight. There was nothing here left for me. The last moments I spent with Elya, I’d tried desperately to prepare for a life without her.

            The actual reality of it was nothing I could have imagined.

            She wasn’t lost or somewhere else on Nirn.

            Gone.

            My atronach flew into my field of vision, startling me out of my thoughts.

            “Yes, yes,” I waved it out of my way, rolling my eyes. “We’ve still got a ship to search.”

            The months of disrepair had made the _Strident Squall_ less ship and more a floating heap of wood. Again, I could hear Rook mumble and complain, “The only thing keeping our legs steady on this gods damned thing is the fact that someone was inept enough to crash onto this rocky shore.”

The deck held nothing of interest. Same held for the deckhouse. More than likely, what I was looking for was probably stored in the hold. My willingness to search down there fell sharply the moment I realized that it was partially flooded. As soon as I groaned, my atronach burned out and I was left with the loneliness that had replaced its presence.

The armor that had kept me warm and safe in northern Solstheim did no good for me here. Meant for the dry and cold, stalhrim did not prevent the cold water from filling my boots and creeping up the fabric of my pants. A small mound of mud and rubble lay tucked away, atop sat the only promising-looking chest. Had circumstances been different, the find would have been exciting. There were gems and some gold. I dug out the only book inside but when I opened it, my emotions swung wildly from deep sadness to inexplicable incredulity.

“ _The Lusty Argonian Maid_?” Had the author himself not have mentioned the Arano family directly in a personal message prefacing the thing, I wouldn’t have believed that _this_ was the precious family heirloom that Cindiri was so damned pissed about. Heirloom, my arse. This was meant to help her at night when Adril forgot that he had a wife. Which was probably every night.  

Rook would have set the thing on fire and thrown it into the ocean to make Cindiri pay for wasting her time.

I howled with laughter, couldn’t breathe. Slumping onto the dry patch, my hands flipped to no page in particular. “You wish me to knead the loaf?” More unstoppable laughter. “ _Here_?” Opening another page, water filled my eyes and my sides began to hurt. “I'm afraid my oven isn't hot enough!” Peals of laughter.

This was unbelievable. It all was. After all this time, I was sitting in the middle of a wrecked ship, reading a thinly-veiled erotic story to no one, and laughing.

And Elya Ashwing was gone from my life and this world and this plane.

And my life.

Forever.  

And the laughter quickly turned into harsh, raw sobbing.  
  
It didn’t last long but it lasted long enough to empty myself of whatever had overcome me. My hands grabbed the ring without my knowledge. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. After testing it on all of my fingers, it became obvious that it wasn’t going to sit well on any of them. At some point I went back up deck and sat on one of the crates, continued to stare out into the sea. The sea had swallowed most of the sun; the only evidence left was a brilliant sliver reflecting its last light onto the rippling waters.  
  
I threw one of the gems from the chest into the water. Then another. Then the last one. It felt so satisfying to be so wasteful with the wealth that I shoved my hand into my pouch hoping to find something else to hurl. Instead my fingers wrapped around a key.

            Rook’s request from that morning in the Skaal Village. I’d forgotten all about it. Digging out the letter she’d given me to give to an Altmer. Niranye? It sounded close enough anyway. There was some serious debate as to whether or not I should read the contents. I bent the edges slightly while I turned it over and over again but I eventually decided against it. I’d be in Windhelm before the end of tomorrow. I could be rid of it then. There was no reason to let whatever she had written to plague me.

            She was gone.

* * *

 

            Something was wrong.

            Very wrong.

            Strolling back into Raven Rock, every guard possible was out and shouting at one another or shouting at the sea. Some were running in and out of The Retching Netch. The commotion inside and out of the inn was a high-pitched and feverish mix of Common and Dunmeris. People were huddled. A few were angry. One or two were crying.  
  
            The Morag Tong? My mind raced. Maybe reavers? Sometimes they got bold and tried to raid the town, but the Redoran guard were usually able to handle the problem. No one stopped me on my way downstairs. In one corner of the bar the Councilor, Adril, and Cindiri kept stealing worried glances around the room. In another, Slitter held a bloodied cloth to the side of his head, blood still running down his cheek, while Mogrul looked off in the distance, sipping on his sujamma. More concerning was Geldis and Glover Mallory.

            Their faces were knotted in worry until they spotted me.

            Then they became impossible to read.

            Just as I was about to set the folio on the counter, Geldis quickly threw his hand up and pointed, “Might not want to do that,” his voice hushed and low warned me.

            Blood. Lots of blood.

            “ _What_ in Oblivion happened?” I whispered.

            Geldis and Mallory shared a look. Mallory frowned.

            “You said she was dead.”

            At first, I couldn’t quite understand the meaning of his words. Then my heart leapt. It leapt, flew out of my chest.

            _Rook’s alive!_

            I threw the folio on a nearby table and grabbed Mallory’s shoulders, shaking him. “She’s alive? Alive!” My arms pulled him in for a quick embraced as I laughed wildly. “I knew it! I knew she would pull it off!” He didn’t seem quite as pleased. My face fell. “Where is she?”

            Maybe I was ignoring the blood on the counter on purpose. Perhaps I was so desperate to know that she had come back, back to _me,_ that the commotion and high emotions just slipped my attention. Geldis went first.

            “She stumbled in looking like death. Hallow eyes, pale flesh. Weak.”  
  
            Rook _had_ asked about me though. Was told that I was out getting this damned folio. Then Slitter confronted her about something.

            “It got…” he wasn’t quite able to get the words out. “…violent,” was the word he finally settled on.

            She’d slammed his face onto the counter multiple times, sliced off his ear.

            Glover picked the story up. My heart still beat quickly but my mind was racing, confused. On the one hand, I was elated. On the other? Still so damned confused about what had happened.

            Where is she?

            “I got her out of here before any of the guards could arrest her. Just trying to buy her some time to let the folks settle so that she wouldn’t spend too much time in the Bulwark. Thought that once people saw she’d hurt ol’ Slitter over there, the guards and Arano might not care that she was an Outlander.”         

            I nodded. Yes, yes. But where was she?

            Glover shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what happened.”

            There was a letter. After the letter, she decided that being dead was for the best. Said she wasn’t going back to Skyrim.

            But he had no idea what caused her to decide to vanish. Whatever the contents of the letter had been, they’d persuaded her.

            And that was it.

            Rook was gone.

            Except she’d left without me. And seemingly on purpose.

            Slumping down into the nearest barstool, my mind raced. My elation at her sudden resurrection couldn’t be matched with any other joy I’d ever felt in my life; however, the anger and confusion I felt was unlike any I’d experienced either, even after suffering through Rook’s descent into madness with her. She’d known I was here, had asked about me. Even if she had been thrown in the Bulwark, I would have visited her or tried to pull some strings. Was she _that_ afraid of being imprisoned? Surely not.

            When I glanced up at both of them, neither gave me much more than a shrug. “I… I don’t understand.” Geldis went back to wiping the counter. Glover let a hand fall on my shoulder.

            “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she wanted to—”

            I shot him the dirtiest look I could muster. “Don’t.”

            After all this time.

            After all of the shit that we’d gone through together. All the good times we shared. All the times we shared  that were more than good. I followed her, fought beside her. Held her, cared for her, waited for her hours on end alone not knowing whether she would return or not.

            “ARGH!” I shot up and slammed my hands on the counter, knocking over someone’s discarded ale.  
            A silence fell over the room. Stomping over toward Cindiri, I snatched the folio and threw it at her feet, “There! Take your gods damned book and shove it up your arse!”

            More yelling, more screaming. None of it made me feel any better.

            I stomped up the stairs and toward the _Northern Maiden._ I wanted off this island.

            _Now._

If I needed to, I would force the captain by sword.

Except I was suddenly met with the reminder that Rook was gone. Gone, but _how_? It hadn’t even occurred to me that she had left by ship, that all of those guards who’d been screaming at the sea hadn’t been doing so for fun. And now I wouldn’t be able to leave until the _Maiden_ returned. Which, according to Geldis, would be a fair bit longer than normal thanks to dragons or vampires or werewolves or _something._

            Possibly the gods damned Dragonborn.

            Who knew? Who in Oblivion _cared?_

Slinking back down to _The Retching Netch,_ I dug out a handful of gold and shoved it towards Geldis. I could feel stares burning into me.

            “Sujamma, a room, and not one more gods damned word about her. I would like to stay blissfully drunk until the ship returns.”

            I took a long, slow sip. Ignored the whispers spreading like wildfire around me.

            Damn her.

            I slammed down my empty flask. Motioned for another one.

            And damn me for believing she had cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it, the end of Rook of Skyrim. Don't worry, Rook's story has a prequel and a sequel that will start posting soon. Rook of Skyrim can be read by itself, so if this is where our journey ends together, thank you so much for making this experience fantastic! This story was born during a very rough period in my life and helped me so much to get back on track. Re-editing and republishing it was terrifying for me--I was so worried that bad things would happen. But nothing of the sort! I have the absolute best readers!
> 
> If you still want to stick around, it's going to get a lot wilder as far as updates happen. I'll start on Relentless soon and you'll see what I mean. 
> 
> But, once again, thank you all for coming along this journey with me! If you're looking to interact with me or the story outside of AO3, please feel free to visit skyrim-fanfiction on Tumblr where I post inspiration and have writing practice pieces. You can feel free to send me asks and share what I post! I've also commissioned an artist to draw Rook and Teldryn, so hopefully I'll have some art soon! (hint: I also get silly and stupidly giddy when anyone sends me fan art or fan writing!).
> 
> So, thank you again so, so, SO much! See you guys soon! -Ash


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